


(Please Don't Say) I Love You

by wordsxstars



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Steve Rogers, Attempted Sexual Assault, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, I'm sorry but also I'm not, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Italian Tony Stark, Just be careful because it gets pretty heavy, M/M, Mild Language, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, its basically 90 percent angst, not really a slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-01-08 06:25:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21231272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsxstars/pseuds/wordsxstars
Summary: Howard makes him want to run and never stop running, but Steve is the first person who's made him, even a tiny part of him, want to stay. And he knows that won't end well, not for anyone"Night Tony," Steve says, that same soft, sweet smile on his face, and Tony wonders if maybe Steve Rogers is not such a bad thing after all.-In which 18 year old Tony Stark meets the barista with the very blue eyes, and realises that maybe hiding isn’t the only answer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Peterbenjxmin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peterbenjxmin/gifts), [boywholived](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boywholived/gifts).

> ITS HERE!!!! Okay so anyone who's been following my instagram or tumblr kNows I've been teasing this for a few weeks, and honestly I'm so so so excited to finally share. I wrote the first half in a week, and I'm still working on the rest. Not going to lie, there probably won't be a regular updating schedule unless I get myself organised, but I hope you enjoy!!

When Steve Rogers drags himself into work in the morning, he swears that he won’t ever drink again. 

Ever. 

College parties were made to screw you over, he thinks as he takes a step a little too fast and the dull ache in his head becomes a lot more painful. He doesn’t know why he had thought it would be a good idea. It’s fine. He can put all the blame on Nat, who had been the person to drag his ass all the way to the party for the hell of it. 

He’s barely passing all his classes, so partying hadn’t been, and won’t ever be, the smarter choice, especially when it makes him late for his one current source of income. If it wasn’t for the scholarship that’s paying for so much of his funding, Steve doesn’t know where he would be, but it certainly wouldn’t be in college.

Sam, his boss and also one of his best friends, is leaning against the wall next to the staff entrance when Steve pushes open the door and tries not to wince as it slams behind him. Sam’s arms are folded across his chest, and he looks like he’s trying to be serious. 

He can see Nat standing behind him with a shit-eating grin on her face, looking far too awake seeing as he _knows _she’d had more to drink than he had. Her and Clint on a team in drinking games is terrifying, and usually results in too much alcohol, and both of them out like lights by the end of the evening. 

“You’re late Rogers.”

Steve nods, resisting the urge to flip Nat off, and grabs his apron off a hook behind the counter.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll stay an hour later this afternoon.”

Sam’s expression softens, and he claps him on the shoulder. 

“It’s fine man. Just take some aspirin before the customers start coming in. You look like death.”

“Thanks,” he mutters under his breath, grabbing a glass and filling it up with water, and giving Nat the middle finger as he catches her laughing. 

If he could be anywhere else right now, he would be. Bed preferably, but sitting down could also work. At least the cafe is warm. Warm, with the smell of coffee lingering in the air. Coffee. That’s _also _a good idea. 

He jolts out of his own thoughts as the first person pushes open the door, and despite the dull throb in his head (less now that the aspirin has kicked in), settles into an easy rhythm. Despite all her teasing, an hour into his shift, Nat places a glass of water next to him with a sympathetic smile. 

The job at the cafe might just be for extra cash, something to help with the stupid amount of student debt that he seems to have landed himself in, but it’s a job he enjoys, despite having only done it for a couple of days. On top of that, it’s only 10 minutes away from the college he’s at, which is a bonus for getting to class on time. 

A hand taps the counter in front of him and a voice reaches his ears, low and smooth, snapping him out of his haze.

“I’m in a bit of a rush sweetheart.”

He jumps slightly, nearly knocking over the glass of water next to him. When he finally gets over the flush of embarrassment for long enough to focus on the person in front of him, he almost starts blushing. 

He looks around 18, only two years younger than Steve himself, and _god, _he’s ridiculously attractive. 

_Christ. Pull it together. _

Steve clears his throat. “What can I get you?”

The guy looks at him, dark eyes unfaltering. He smiles, and it's a practiced thing, all sharp edges and bedroom softness. 

If he wasn’t before, Steve is definitely blushing now. 

“I’ll have a latte, but throw in an extra double shot espresso.”

“Right.”

_Coffee. Focus on the coffee._

He swallows hard, starting to make the coffee and praying that this guy, whoever he is, waits quietly. He looks familiar, almost scarily so, but Steve can’t place his face for the life of him.

Unfortunately, his luck isn’t good enough, and he leans over the counter with a smile that Steve is sure people would kill to have directed at them. 

“So sweetheart, you’re new here?” 

“I-”

He laughs as he answers his own question, cutting smoothly across Steve. 

“Of course you are. I think I would remember you if you weren’t.”

_Stop. Fucking. Blushing. _

“Do you have a name?” Steve’s voice comes out slightly harsher than he intended it to, but in his defence, he is definitely too hung-over to be dealing with someone with a smile this arrogant. 

He tilts his head to one side, looking almost amused. 

“Tony.” His voice is a purr. “But you can call me anything you want sweetheart.” 

Steve swallows. Hard. “That’s $3.50.” 

The guy, Tony, smiles again, handing over the money and slipping twenty dollars into the tip jar. Steve fights to keep the surprise off his face. 

Tony opens his mouth to say something else, but then his phone rings. Steve doesn’t miss how the smile vanishes instantly, but it’s none of his business, so he doesn’t say anything. He hands him the coffee, and Tony winks once before turning away, already talking to whoever’s on the other side of the call. 

“This is Stark.”

_Oh. _

_You idiot. _

_Youabsolutemotherfuckingidot_

Sam comes up behind him, and something about his face must give him away, because his friend laughs. “That didn't click straight away, huh.”

Steve shakes his head, turning to face Sam as the door shuts behind tony. Tony as in Tony Stark, heir to his father's billion-dollar company.

“In my defence, I did think he looked familiar.”

Sam laughs, and another voice pipes up, laced with a wicked humour. Natasha then. 

“He is ridiculously hot. And was clearly flirting with you.”

Steve feels himself going red again, and folds his arms across his chest. 

“He was not _flirting. _He’s not even gay. Also, I don’t know him. I don’t even know how _old _he is.”

“Eighteen.”

Both Sam and him turn again to look at Natasha, who stares back with a look of utterly fake innocence. 

“What? I do my research. He graduated from MIT last year, and he’s come to New York to help his father with work.” She frowns slightly. “Also, how do you know he’s not gay?”

Steve raises his eyebrows, ignoring the second part of that question. “He graduated at 18?"

Nat shrugs. “He’s allegedly a genius, though I don’t know if that’s just rumours or not. I wouldn’t be surprised if his father had bribed him through college.”

Steve processes that information, making the next coffee without any sort of interaction, body working on autopilot as he tries to order his thoughts. 

“He comes in here often?”

Nat smirks at him, eyes glittering with humour. 

“Why? You interested?”

Steve shakes his head, face feeling hot. 

“No, just curious. For someone so famous, I know virtually nothing about him.”

Sam raises his eyebrows, waving a couple of other staff members over, and Steve realises that it’s time for his break. He leads the way into the back room, and Nat grabs another glass of water.

“How have you never googled him?”

Steve shrugs, feeling slightly uncomfortable. 

“I don’t know. Never been interested enough.” 

Nat rolls her eyes, taking another aspirin. 

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Steve scowls, and the headache increases.

-

He googles Tony when he gets home that evening. 

For some reason, he can feel guilt settling in his stomach as he types the name into the search bar, even though he’s completely entitled to look him up. 

He reads about Tony Stark, the son of the billionaire, the boy who’s been heir to Stark Industries for his whole life. There are countless of stories about him, and Steve is certain that at least half of them are bullshit. There are pictures of him with girls draped over him at fifteen, pictures of drinks in his hands, pictures of him with wide, unfocused eyes.

When he gets to the stories about what exactly goes on at these parties, and who exactly Tony Stark takes to bed, he stops reading. 

He shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have looked, and now he feels worse because it’s always girls with him, always women. 

He goes to sleep, and tries to put Tony’s dark eyes out of his mind. 

-

Unfortunately, Tony Stark does not get any less attractive between coffee visits. 

Two days later, the billionaire's son saunters back into the cafe, this time leaving an older man standing outside, and Steve feels a finger prod him in the back, shoving him towards the till. He glares at Nat, turning back towards him. 

“What can I get you Mr Stark?”

Something dark flashes in his eyes, a blink and you miss it moment, before the arrogant smile is back. 

“Call me Tony, please. And the same as yesterday, sweetheart, plus a cappuccino for my friend outside, and an extra espresso shot.”

“That’s a lot of coffee,” he says under his breath, beginning to make it. Tony shrugs, smirk widening. 

“This job doesn’t wait for anyone sweetheart. I tend to need to stay awake for it.”

Right. The billion-dollar company. 

He raises his eyebrows, a smile tugging at his lips against his will. “Or, you could try sleeping?”

Tony laughs, and there’s something so honest about his laugh, it’s refreshing. Steve feels his own smile widening, and there’s a part of him that wants to make him laugh again. 

“You’re sweet.”

“And you’re patronising.”

Tony holds his hand to his heart with a teasing smile. 

“Who? Me? I would never patronise you sweetheart.” 

Something about the nickname is doing a mix of making him feel hot all over, and annoyed. He decides to focus on annoyed. (Never mind the fact that he’s blushing again, and his pale skin is a real fucking giveaway.)

“It’s Steve.”

“Steve.” Tony smiles slowly, dragging out his name as he takes the coffee. Steve feels his heart jump in his chest as Tony (definitely accidentally on purpose) brushes his fingers against his. 

“Can I take you out to dinner handsome.”

He’s so _so _glad that he has enough self-control to stop his mouth dropping open. _That, _he hadn’t expected. He guesses it will teach him to trust what he reads on Google. 

“Um.”

Tony smirks, sliding the money across the counter to him, along with a small piece of paper. His handwriting is neat, so unlike Steve’s own slanted mess.

“No rush to decide, but give me a call? Also do me a favour; don’t sell that to the paparazzi. There would be far too much paperwork, and I would much rather spend the time getting to know _you_ a little better.” He gives him a once over, and if Steve didn’t hate the expression so much, he would describe it as pretty close to the feeling of having his clothes stripped away. 

Steve can’t begin to speak even if he tried, so only stares as Tony’s phone buzzes and he rolls his eyes. 

“That’s my cue sweetheart. See you around, and have a think about dinner.”

A second later he’s gone, and when Steve turns around, Nat is behind him, staring at him with an open mouth. 

“What.”

“You know what.”

He runs a hand through his hair, trying to slow his heart rate down to a normal I’m-not-interested-in-Tony-Stark rate. He can’t believe he’s having this conversation with Nat, while working, after serving Tony Stark coffee, the same person who just handed over his personal phone number. 

“Jesus Christ Rogers. You’re going out for dinner with him.”

He frowns slightly, glancing back towards the door. He likes Tony, more than he’s willing to admit to Nat right now, more than he’s even willing to admit to himself. He’s only seen a limited amount of him online, but having the same smile he flashes for cameras turned on him is… disarming, despite only having two conversations with him. 

Okay, so maybe he’s a little more interested than he had originally thought. 

Clearly, he’s hesitating for too long, because Nat releases a long suffering sigh, grabbing his phone out of his pocket, and the phone number left on the counter. 

“Hey!”

She guesses his password in six seconds, which would be embarrassing in any other situation, except this is Natasha Romanoff, and she’s freakily good at hacking. There was a rumour last year that she hacked the pentagon, but seeing as he’s the one who started it, he won’t swear by it. 

“You stole my phone.” He deadpans. She just laughs, handing him back the mobile. 

“Don’t be dramatic. I put his number on it. It’s your choice whether to text him or not.” She frowns slightly. “Also don’t sell it to the paparazzi.”

He knows she’s joking, but he still feels a flicker of defensiveness. 

“I wouldn’t.”

“I know Steve, you’re too much of a nice person.”

He narrows his eyes with a laugh. “Why do I sense sarcasm Romanoff?”

She shrugs innocently, moving past him to take over his shift, smiling at the next customer with ease. He knows it’s fake, because it’s directed at the same woman who had come in last week and ordered five coffees, didn’t tip, and then called Nat something that nearly had all of them launching across the counter to kill her. 

Needless to say, the smile is a little strained. 

He shakes his head, exasperated, and looks at the phone in his hand. The smart thing, he knows, would be to get rid of that number, and stay the hell away from Tony Stark and his practiced, beautiful smiles.

He slips the phone into his pocket, and the number remains untouched.

-

When he finishes work, he goes to one afternoon class (who the hell said Saturday classes were legal?) and then goes home. He shares the apartment with someone he only met this year but got on well with fast. Clint is in the shower when he gets back, so instead he collapses onto his bed.

He tries to put Tony Stark out of his mind. He doesn’t want to date, especially not this year when he’s only just passing his classes apart from art, and even the art doesn’t seem quite right at the moment, despite the goddamn _scholarship _he’s been given. No, nothing good could come of being around Tony.

_It’s fine_, he thinks,_ I don’t have to like him, I just have to serve him coffee. _

If he ever comes back to the cafe that is, now that Steve has made such a monumental fool of himself. 

“Steve?”

That’s Clint, out of the shower. 

“Hey.”

“You ever finish that art crap you were working on?”

No. He hasn’t. His shift had overrun, thanks to their conversation about Howard Stark’s son, and he had nearly missed his class. 

“Nope. Sort of crazy day.”

Clint raises his eyebrows. “By any chance does it have anything to do with a guy? Or a billionaire? Or _both_?

Steve whips around to face him, scowling. “Sam told you.” It’s not a question. 

Clint grins, flopping down next to him on the bed and sighing dramatically. 

“Natasha actually. Her exact words were _make sure he gets his ass out for dinner with him_.”

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed.” There’s a beat. “Are you going to?”

“Going to what?” Steve says, playing for time even though he knows _exactly _what Clint is referring to. 

“I swear Rogers, you’re incapable of doing anything for yourself. Go for dinner.”

“He’s most definitely not interested in a serious relationship. Getting involved with a billionaire isn’t really on my to-do list for the year. Neither is dating.”

Clint shrugs. “Win-win. If he is, you win, because I _know _you’re bullshitting me about the dating thing. If he’s not looking for anything serious, which I really doubt, from what I’ve heard, you get dinner with a billionaire and never see him again. Not a biggie.”

Steve runs his hands through his hair, feeling the phone in his pocket like a weight. 

“I like him. But I don’t want him to think I’m going just because he’s rich.”

“So tell him that.” 

Steve raises his eyebrows, taking the phone out of his pocket and turning it over in his hands. 

“When did you get good at relationship advice? Has Nat been giving you classes or something?”

His friend only laughs, giving him a smirk. 

“I’ll never spill my secrets. Now, for fucks sake, just _call_ him.” 

Once Clint goes back to his work, he spends five minutes looking at the phone; finger hovering over call button on the number that Tony has given him. 

In the end, Steve spends half the evening writing and deleting messages, because nothing feels quite right. He doesn’t call; he doesn’t know what to say. What is there to say anyway? _Hi, you walked into a cafe I worked in and handed over your number. You still want to take me out for dinner?_

Yeah, no. 

Plus, what if Tony doesn’t actually want to see him? What if he’s changed his mind now? Everything swirls around his head, almost faster than he can keep up, and he decides to move before he does something stupid like throw his phone out of the window. 

“Clint?”

His friend looks up from the pile of papers he seems to have merged his soul with. An essay, due in a few days, and there’s so many notes on the table it’s making Steve’s head hurt. 

“You want to see if Nat and Sam will come out for drinks?” He turns the phone off, sliding it into his pocket. He needs a break from worrying about the billionaire’s son, and he needs a break from the apartment. 

Clint is on his feet in less than five seconds, which Steve finds somewhat impressive, considering how low he had been sliding down the chair a minute ago.

“Yeah. I’ll text her on the way.”

As they make their way out of the tiny apartment, Steve considers leaving his phone behind. What good will it do anyway, apart from sending him right back to square one of this new fixation. 

He takes it anyway, clicking the door shut behind him. 


	2. Chapter 2

When Tony gets out of the coffee shop, Happy Hogan doesn’t wait for more than a second before he’s holding out his hand for the cappuccino

“You should drink less coffee kiddo. It’s bad for you.”

Tony just snorts, unwilling to surrender his latte, and tolerating the nickname because Happy is one of the only people he actually likes. Also because he knows that Howard never tells him to stop drinking coffee because _it’s bad for him_, and neither does Obie. 

“You first.”

Happy laughs, and Tony manages a smile. He hired him two years ago, the one thing he’d had a choice on when it came to staff. Obie says he likes to pick people he trusts, but really that’s just another way of saying he likes to pick spies. 

The man has his goddamn spies everywhere, and it’s sets Tony’s skin crawling. He once went through seven phones in a month, because he kept finding bugs on them. Now he has two phones. One is his personal one that Rhodey set up for him. It has three numbers on it. Rhodey, Pepper, and Happy. The bugged one is what he considers his work phone, and it’s for Obie, Howard, his mother, and anyone else. 

Steve, the barista with the very blue eyes, now has the personal number. He’s not sure how he feels about it. 

Nervous, is the first emotion that comes to mind, and it’s a new one, because he’s usually too drunk to be nervous when it comes to asking people out. Not that he asks them out a lot. Usually, he just skips a few (or five) steps and takes them straight to bed. 

He definitely doesn’t go around giving random baristas his personal phone number. Random male baristas. And if one wrong person finds out, then Howard finds out, and then… well he knows what’s next. 

_Time to start thinking about something else. _

He realises that they’ve gotten all the way to Happy’s car, and slides into the backseat, because he’s really not in the mood for small talk today. 

His thoughts drift back to Steve, predictably. Tony usually makes a point of never going to the same coffee shop twice, because god knows New York has enough of them for a lifetime. It also decreases the chances of him being recognised, because dealing with the vultures that write for the tabloids isn’t his preferred way of spending his morning. Happy agrees, which is why the rule works. He’s been here for a month, and that’s the only time he’s gone somewhere twice. 

He’d gone back to the stupid, tiny place again, and it hadn’t been for the coffee, (though it’s his favourite so far) but for the barista with the blue eyes. 

The press would die to get their hands on something like this. Though that can be applied to most stories when it comes to him. Ty had once called him the _media’s favourite treat. _It hadn’t been a compliment. Maybe that’s why Tony had finally told him to get lost, albeit rather colourfully. 

They pull up outside the SI tower, and Tony feels like a block of ice has lodged itself in his stomach. 

It’s fine.

It’s _fine. _

He won’t see anyone today; he knows that Howard is in meetings. His mother is at the house in Malibu. Obadiah... he doesn’t know. But he’ll only come and see him if he wants something. 

“You alright?”

Happy’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. 

“Yep.”

“Sure?”

_No_

“Yeah.”

“Okay then.” Happy doesn’t believe him, he never does. And Tony isn’t even a bad liar. “Call if you need anything.”

“Right.”

He’s no longer listening; all he can feel is dread. He would have thought that by the second month of being in New York after graduating, the dread and panic would have lessened. 

That’s what Rhodey had told him anyway. When he had moved back from MIT after the summer, he had first moved into his parent’s house in New York. 

His mother had wanted him to come, and he had agreed because it was his mother, and Rhodey’s had just been diagnosed with stage three breast cancer (which she has now survived) and it was his _mother_. He didn’t think about the other person in the house, didn’t _let_ himself think about him. 

It had been a mistake. 

After two days, he had felt on edge, jumpy in his own skin. All it had taken was Howard having one two many drinks and a bad day at work, and on the third day, Tony had locked himself in the bathroom for an hour, and thrown up everything in his stomach.

He moved into an apartment in Brooklyn the next day. Pepper helped to set it up for him. 

Howard had protested, his mother had cried, but surprisingly, Obie had taken his side, had said that he needed some space. It was one of the only things they had ever actually agreed on, and Tony had been grateful, is still grateful, though he suspects Obie has spies in the apartment block he lives in too. 

When he gets up to his office, (top floor, he wanted the bigger windows) Obadiah Stane is sitting at his desk. 

He _really_ doesn’t have the energy for this. 

“Fuck off.”

Obie raises his eyebrows, and Tony fights not to take a step backwards as he stands up, coming round the side of the desk to stand in front of it. He’s not scared of Obadiah, he’s _not. _He’s scared of what he knows. 

“Now Tony, is that any way to talk to someone who only came to give you news?”

“I-“ Tony can think of about six other things he wants to say, and none of them are flattering. His sometimes thinks his vocabulary is a little _too _advanced. Especially as he’s always had problems with keeping his mouth shut around everyone other than his father. “No.” He finishes, anger coiling in his stomach, making him feel sick. It’s a game with Obie, always a power play. “Apologies.”

Careful, Tony is always so careful around him. 

“Good. You’re learning.” He always has had such a shark smile. “I came to let you know that your parents request you come out for dinner with them on Friday night. They’re both in New York for the weekend and they wish to, and these are your mother’s words, _spend some family time together._”

His heart rate seems to have doubled in the space of a second, but he’s had enough practice not letting it show on his face. 

“What?”

“Dinner. Friday night. They’ve booked somewhere in town. Your mother wanted you all to go to Malibu for the weekend, but Howard said no. They asked me to let you know they expect you to have lunch with them on Saturday as well. I’ll send your assistant all the information.”

“What are you, their messenger now?” He can hear his own voice, and it sounds scared. It sounds young, despite how hard he’s trying to keep it neutral. 

Dinner. His parents. 

“No. You’ll be booked into a hotel for the weekend.”

“I have an apartment-”

“That wasn’t a request boy. You’ll need to be close.”

_So that I can get you and Howard home more easily when you’re drunk off your asses. _

He doesn’t say that. 

“Fine.”Tony's tone is more even now, and he sounds pissed. Good. “Are we done here? I have work to do.”

Anything. Anything to get him _out. _

Obadiah gives him another one of those smiles, and it’s a reminder that Tony is surrounded by sharks every day. 

_Rhodey. _That’s the only goddamn thought in his head. He needs to talk to Rhodey, or see Rhodey, or just get _out. _

Obadiah leaves, and breathing becomes a little bit easier. He can feel the panic tugging at his chest, and his nails bite into his palms. He can’t break though, not here, not now, because he can see two cameras without even turning around, and Tony knows that seeing him lose it would be like Christmas come early for Obie 

He wants a fucking drink, and he wants Rhodey, and he wants Steve to call so he can go on the stupid date with the stupid barista, and most of all he wants to run, and get out of this den of shadows that he’s trapped in. 

He was 13 when he discovered that the real monsters aren’t the ones from the stories, but the businessmen in suits and expensive cologne. He won’t forget it. 

(He’s one of them after all, however much he tries to pretend otherwise.)

His phone rings, the work one, and Tony nearly jumps out of his skin. Once he’s got his breathing under control, he picks up. 

“Tony Stark.”

“I’ve just been emailed your schedule for next week.” It’s Pepper, and he loves her for calling this phone, for keeping it professional, because he doesn’t think he would be able to keep it together if she hadn’t. “Your parents-”

“Are coming to stay, and I’m going to be booked into a hotel. I know.”

Interrupting Pepper Potts hasn’t historically been good for his health, but right now he doesn’t care. 

“You know,” she repeats, and her voice is steadier than his hands are right now. 

“Yes.”

There’s silence, and he can imagine the look on her face right now, a mix between pitying and sad. 

“It’s fine.” He says, because it _is_ fine, it really is, and he would rather be trapped with Howard forever than have anyone _pity _him for it. 

“Tony-” 

He often wonders how much she knows.

“Pep. Book the hotel, okay? Send me the details later.” He hangs up, and thinks about when Pepper’s icy exterior had melted with him. They had met when he had first ended up in college three years ago, and he had employed her as soon as he had graduated. The ice hadn’t lasted long, and she quickly became one of the most important people in his life next to Rhodey.

He could tell her all of it, he _should _tell her all of it. But he can’t because then she would give him such a sad look, and it’s a look he gets from her already when photos are leaked, or stories are sold, or she comes round to his apartment and sees the lack of things on the walls, the lack of any sort of personalisation.

He can’t talk to her, just like he can’t tell anyone other than Rhodey. That’s mostly because he’s incapable of lying to Rhodey, and his friend has seen him bad and helped him through it far too many times to count. So no, he can’t lie to Rhodey, but he can lie to Pepper, or at least withhold the truth until she inevitably figures it out on her own. 

(He won’t be surprised if she already knows, but that’s because it's Pepper Potts.)

He closes his eyes, giving himself three seconds to pull it together. Get through the day, then call Rhodey, then go and get a drink. 

Once he’s sure that he can breathe again, Tony opens his eyes, glaring at one of the cameras. Then he sits down, pulling a pile of paper towards him, and starts to read. 

-

By the end of the day, his nerves have reached breaking point, and a headache is building behind his eyes. He doesn’t bother letting Obie know he’s left, he’s probably been watching him all day anyway.

Tony steps out of the tower, and dimly realises his hands are shaking as he fishes his personal phone out of his pocket. 

_Rhodey. _

He can feel the panic looming, just beyond the wall of stone he’s had up all day. Tony isn’t sure why now is the time the panic attack he’s been putting off for hours has decided to crash back into him, but he just- 

He needs to talk to him, needs to be reminded. His hands are trembling as he hits the call button, closing his eyes as he ducks into a side street and presses the phone so hard against his ear that it’s almost painful. The phone rings. 

_Pick up, pick up, pick up. _

_Please_

“Tony?”

His breath leaves him in a gasp, and he nods before realising his best friend can’t see him. He can’t breathe, he can’t _breathe_. 

“Rhodey-” His voice sounds shaky, young. Scared. 

“Hi Tones. I’m here, I’m right here.” 

His parents. Dinner. His _parents. _

Rhodey has done this before countless times. Over and over in the summer, and over and over throughout their time at MIT, when Tony had come back from visiting his mother and father, and spent hours throwing up, hours panicking, hours just hugging Rhodey. 

His friend murmurs something he can’t really hear, reassurances that slowly, gradually, bring down his panic. 

_Breathe. You’re okay. _

_Breathe. _

He sucks in a breath, and when he speaks again, his voice is more steady than it was before. 

“Hi. I’m-”

“If you say I’m sorry, I’m flying over to kick your ass.”

He chokes out a laugh, closing his eyes as the panic releases its death grip on his chest, allowing his body to relax. 

“I’m still sorry though. Didn’t mean to drop that on you.”

“I told you, I never care Tones. I would rather you called me than do the bullshit lone gun-slinger thing where you grit your teeth and deal with it alone.”

“Right. Thanks.”

“What happened?”

“Parents.” It's the only explanation he needs to give.

There’s a beat of silence. When it comes back to him, Rhodey's voice is carefully controlled. Tony can still hear the ice in it, the cold anger. It’s not directed at him, but it’s still a little terrifying. 

“Howard?”

“No. Yes. They’re coming this weekend. Want to have dinner. Obie's booking me into a hotel.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” It can't be helped. He has to go, but at least it’s just dinner. 

“Tony?”

He makes a humming noise that passes for an answer, opening his eyes. The alleyway is still empty, thank god, because if he had to deal with the press and their opinion on Tony Stark having panic attacks at the age of 18-

“Tony, are you listening? Or is your brain doing the thing where it panics instead of being logical."

“The second one.”

He hears his friend sigh, but there’s no real anger behind it.

“Just promise me you won’t get weird and embarrassed because of this?”

“I’m not-”

“Tones. I know what your IQ is, so don't play dumb.”

He sighs, resting his head against the wall and loosening his death grip on the phone. 

“I thought… I just thought they would have stopped by now.” He hates how weak his voice sounds, he _hates _it. 

Rhodey’s voice is heartbreakingly gentle, and if anyone other than his friend had ever spoken to him like that, he would have shut them down in half a second with a cutting remark that went right for the throat. 

“Just because you’re older, doesn’t make the situation any better. It won’t just disappear because you graduated.”

“I know.”

He knows. He does know. But he’s so sick of the panic, and he’s so so tired. 

“I have to go,” Rhodey says, and he sounds sad. His fault. It’s Tony’s fault that he sounds sad. “Call me if you need anything, promise?”

“Yeah, always. Love you.” 

He can hear Rhodey’s smile. “Love you too. Knee Obie in the crotch for me.”

His lips twitch slightly. “No promises. Bye.”

“Bye Tones.”

He hangs up before he can ask his friend to stay. 

-

The last person Tony expects to see across the bar from him is Steve Rogers. 

He came in here because after the day, after the call, all he wanted to do was drink until he couldn’t remember what Obadiah’s shark smile looked like. They serve him in here; they always do, even when he doesn’t have his unconvincing fake ID with him. The lighting is dim, so he doesn’t expect to be recognised. He’s pulled it together since the call with Rhodey, but he feels almost vulnerable at the moment, even if he doesn’t look it. 

So of course Steve has to be sitting right next to him. Steve, the barista he had asked out. Steve, the barista who had definitely _not _called him. 

But here they are, and Tony can’t help but think that this is some twisted game that the universe is playing with him. Like _hey! Here’s a beautiful person you actually like, but no worries, he’ll never actually call you_. 

The universe hates him, it’s fine. 

He’s on his second glass of some spirit he doesn’t know the name of, and he’s convinced the bartender is spying on him. Which is also totally fine, except that means Obie is spying on him, and Steve is _here_. 

All things considered, the situation is now a lot less fine than it had been five minutes ago. 

When Steve finally notices him, his voice is hesitant, worried. That’s good, it’ll make Tony feel less guilty about having a conversation that will probably end in him being an asshole. 

“Hey.” 

He looks up, sees the blue eyes, and immediately looks back to his drink. 

“Hi.”

There’s silence, and Tony realises he’s drumming out a beat on the tabletop. He stops. Starts again. Forces his hands to still. It’s a nervous habit that he picked up in college, and he still can’t seem to shake it.

“What are you doing here?”

Tony feels older right now, despite the fact that he's pretty sure he’s younger than Steve by a couple of years. It’s a stupid question, one that he doesn’t even have the energy to answer sarcastically 

“Having a drink. It’s the only thing worth doing around here.”

“Right.”

Tony has never been good with awkward silences, but apparently Steve isn’t either.

“They’re serving you?”

Tony shrugs, tapping the bar gently, and the bartender refills his drink. He can see Steve watching the amber liquid hit the bottom of the glass, and then looking back to him.

“They know who I am, and they know I’ll pay double if they do.”

If he had to guess what Steve is currently thinking, he would say it’s something along the lines of _you’re eighteen and drinking? _He knows what comes next, especially if Steve has spent more than two minutes on his stupid fucking Wikipedia page.

_Playboy_

_Slut_

_Fuck-up_

God, he’s too sober for this conversation with Steve, _especially_ because it’s Steve. 

Judgement is something he can deal with, he’s grown up knowing how to deal with it. Steve… Steve is something he isn’t sure about, and it’s making him nervous. 

“If you’re going to ask me about the alcohol, or the slut thing, or the continuous public fuck ups, maybe wait until I’m on my third drink.”

If he tells it first, he doesn’t have to hear it. He can take it, god knows he takes it enough from Obie, from Howard, and from the rest of the world. 

He doesn’t think he can take it from Steve though. 

“I-” Steve blinks, looking more confused than anything else. “What? Who the hell asks you about any of that shit?”

He takes another drink, shrugging, and fighting to keep his tone even. 

“Most people I spend any sort of time with.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to ask.”

“Excellent,” he says dryly, “but the staring speaks for itself I’m afraid. You have a shit poker face.”

“I’m not-“ Steve takes a deep breath, flattening his hands on the counter. “I don’t think you’re a slut.”

“No? How noble of you.”

_Tone down the asshole thing Stark. _

Steve seems to think that changing the subject is a good idea, and Tony agrees, because it’s much less likely that he’ll end up saying something that he’ll regret. So instead, he flashes a smile at Steve that he _knows _most people would pay for, and tries to ignore the fact that his heart is beating far too fast to be casual. 

He realises Steve is speaking. 

“You left the coffee shop in a rush this morning.”

Had he? He just remembers his phone vibrating with a text, and then the dread dropping into his stomach

If Howard ever finds out, if Howard ever knew about Steve-

“Yeah,” he says, tipping back the glass, barely feeling the burn of the alcohol. He doesn’t look at Steve. He’s not sure he wants to see the look on his face. “Busy with work.”

A lie, but a kind one. 

Silence stretches between them, and Tony is surprised no one else can hear his heart racing. 

“I’m sorry.”

His head jolts up, forgetting the rule of avoiding Steve’s eyes for more than one reason. They’re so blue. How the hell are they so blue?

“For what, exactly?”

Steve is blushing, that much he can see despite the lighting. He gets an almost uncontrollable urge to kiss him. But not here, not with so many eyes on him, not with the bartender who he’s 99% sure is still watching them, meaning that Obie is watching them, meaning that kissing Steve-

“Why are you sorry?” He says again, anything to get the image of his lips out of his head. 

“I didn’t call you.”

He glances at the bartender. He’s talking to someone else. Tony lowers his voice anyway. He’s not quite drunk enough to abandon caution, not tonight, not yet. And trust Steve to bring up the one thing that he really wants to avoid talking about right now.

“It’s fine sweetheart. I didn’t expect you to.”

Steve blinks, and _maybe _Tony could have said it nicely, with a smile, but his parents are coming on Friday and he doesn’t have the brain space for this, because all he wants to do is kiss Steve and _run_. 

“You didn’t?” 

There’s a tiny bit of hurt in his voice, or maybe Tony is imagining it, amplifying his own guilt because he’s always been self-destructive like that.

“No.” He takes another drink, and _finally, _the sharp edges that he imagines his intelligence to be made of start to blur slightly.

“I was going to.”

That gives him pause for a second, makes a break in the wall of ice that he has been busy constructing in his mind. 

“But you didn’t.”_ Too harsh. _He makes an effort to soften his tone. Nice. He can do nice. He does nice for the cameras, for Obie, for his parents. 

“Listen. I’m not mad; I’m not holding it against you. I just thought-“ _Thought what? That you’d have dinner, flaunt around some money, and then he’d rescue you from the sharks?_

Sometimes, Tony hates his brain. 

“I just thought it would be nice,” he finishes, flashing his trademark smile. “I like to take cute baristas out for dinner.” Let Steve infer what he will from that. If the look on his face is anything to go by, the words had their intended effect. 

“Can I-” Steve swallows, and Tony tips his head to the side, rearranging his expression into something unreadable. “Can we talk outside?”

He smirks, leaning back in his chair. Flirting with Steve is easy, and it’s fun, even if it hurts. 

“What’s the matter sweetheart? Afraid of anyone seeing?”

_Tony is afraid. He’s so afraid of anyone seeing._

To his surprise, Steve holds his gaze steadily. 

“No. Never. I just want to have a conversation with you where I can properly see you.”

That's a prickle of shame he can feel. Shame and disgust at himself, because he knows Steve is a better person than he will ever be, and it only makes him want him more. 

“Okay. Lead the way.” He doesn’t bother paying for the drinks. If Obie is spying on him, he can pay for them himself.

Steve clearly hasn’t gotten any better at masking his looks of surprise, but Tony doesn’t comment on them, and a minute later, they’re out of the back door. He lets the cool air hit him, something that has been tense all day uncoiling in his chest. 

“Tony?”

Right. He wants to talk. He forces himself to look at Steve. 

“Yep.” 

“Do you still want to go for dinner?”

_What. _

He blinks. Once. Twice. 

“What?”

Why does he want to go out for dinner? Tony is an asshole, he’s been awful, he’s-

“Dinner. I really want to go for dinner, but I didn’t know how to say that in a text, and I was worried you didn’t actually want to and I still don’t know if you do or if you were kidding or-”

Tony grabs his hand, unable to resist the smile on his face. So much for the ice.

“Steve.”

His blue eyes are wide, and god knows Tony should let it go now, should back away and leave before he ruins this boy. The world has been far too kind to Steve Rogers, and Tony doesn’t want to be the thing that teaches him hate and manipulation and shows him just how fucked up the world is, shows Steve just how fucked up _he _is. 

But he wants him, more than he’s wanted anything in a while. He’s always been selfish, far too selfish to deny himself this. 

“I wanted to go for dinner. I still want to go for dinner.” 

Steve gives him an answering smile that is so happy, so full of light, that for a second, Tony feels his heart in his throat. 

“Okay. Okay good, that’s- that’s so good.”

Tony laughs quietly, loosening his hold on Steve’s hand. But he only grips tighter, his smile open and honest. 

He has such a goddamn honest smile. 

“And you don’t?” 

Tony realises he's spoken out loud, and fights to keep his expression neutral, even as Steve’s brows furrow in confusion. 

“Depends. Usually not. I don’t enjoy showing it to the press anyway.”

They’re away from any crowds here, alone, and they’re so close. He wants to kiss him, because even though he’s scared, he knows that no one with a smile that honest will out him to the tabloids. 

He tightens his grip on Steve’s hand, closing his eyes, and he’s so glad he doesn’t flinch when he feels a hand brush across his cheek. Gentle, his touch is so gentle. Tony could get lost in it, get lost in this feeling of uncontrollable peace. 

“You okay?” He says quietly, and Tony nods, leaning into his touch, eyes still closed as Steve tilts his head up and kisses him. 

Part of him wonders if they should have waited, made it something special. But this is special, in a way. It’s so cold, Tony can feel it in his bones. But he’s warm, warm for the first time in a while because it’s cold at work and his apartment for more than one reason. Steve’s lips are soft, and he can taste the sweetness of what he had been drinking, and mint. His hands are so gentle, dragging a thumb across his cheekbone, and Tony feels every part of him relax. 

_Safe, _he thinks. _This is safe. _

He never wants to let go; never wants to stop kissing him like this. 

But they’re in public, however alone they may be right now. All it takes is one picture, one sighting, and then it’s an article, a video, then Obie will call, then his mother will call, and then and then and then. 

If Howard ever finds out-

He breaks away from Steve, a smile spreading across his face. It’s a genuine one, not the camera one. Tony at least, knows the difference. 

“So,” he says quietly, reaching up to brush a strand of Steve’s hair away from his face. “Dinner.” 

He nods, a blush spreading across his cheeks, and Tony gets the strangest urge to cry, because _god _he doesn’t want to fuck this up, he doesn’t want to make Steve lose any of that innocent joy.

“Maybe give me your number? Then I can text you the timings.”

Minutes later, Tony has put Steve's number into his phone, and he’s feeling lighter than he has since moving out when he was 15. 

He touches Steve on the arm, and his skin is warm, it’s so warm, and Tony wants to kiss him again more than he wants to do anything else.

_Selfish. _

The fact that it sounds so much like Howard’s voice in his ear is what snaps him out of it eventually. Howard. Coming on Friday.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night?” He says, fighting to keep the smile on his face. 

The last few nights before the storm, he thinks somewhat bitterly, and he hates this. He hates that thinking of Howard provokes this response from him. He hates that it ruins everything. He hates him, he _hates_ him. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, and Tony realises that he smiles with his whole face. His eyes light up, and his lips-

“Night,” he says, and for once, the noise in his head is quiet, because Steve’s eyes are so blue, and it’s dark, and his parents are far enough away that he can put them both out of his mind, if only for one evening.

Howard makes him want to run and never stop running, but Steve is the first person who’s made him, even a tiny part of him, want to stay. And that won’t end well, not for anyone. 

“Night Tony,” Steve says, that same soft, sweet smile on his face, and Tony wonders if maybe Steve Rogers is not such a bad thing after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this! If anyone wants to come and yell at me, my instagram and tumblr are @wordsxstars. Thank you for the support on this so far!


	3. Chapter 3

Tony is twenty minutes late to the address that he texted him, and Steve is beginning to wonder if this whole thing is actually some elaborate joke. The restaurant he’s outside of is Italian, and Tony still isn’t here, and honestly he’s not sure if he’s relieved or not. 

“Steve, hey!”

He turns to face Tony as he comes up behind him, breath catching slightly. Relief, that's relief that he can feel now that Tony is standing in front of him. The genius’s face is mostly in shadows because of the dim streetlights, but Steve can still see parts of him, flashes that make him want to freeze time and pick up a pencil. Brown curly hair, and those dark eyes, his gaze far too intense for this time of the evening. He’s dressed up, probably more appropriately for the restaurant than Steve is, but somehow that doesn't matter right now.

“Hey,” Tony says, and not for the first time, Steve can’t stop a smile appearing on his face. He swears it’s an uncontrollable instinct, especially when Tony smiles back, and it’s a mix between something almost deadly, but unbelievably beautiful. 

He wants to kiss him, he wants to kiss him so badly. 

He doesn’t kiss him of course, but _god _he wants to.

“Hi. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up.”

Tony smiles, and it’s less practiced, more genuine. “Yeah. New York traffic is a bitch.” 

There's a beat of silence, and Steve just lets himself stare for a second, before Tony breaks him out of his thoughts. 

“We should go in. I made reservations for 8.”

He glances at his phone. It’s 8 now, and he’s relieved, because it’s early November, and it’s getting a hell of a lot colder. 

Tony leads him inside, smirking at the waitress in a way that makes something twist in Steve’s stomach. He’s _not _jealous. He refuses to be jealous of the fact that Tony Stark smiles at everyone like that, like they’re the only person in the world. 

She leads them to a booth at the back, and Steve feels so unbelievably out of place here amidst all the men in tailored suits and the fancy silverware. But once he sits down, he can feel himself relaxing slightly, because Tony’s eyes are on him, and he can feel the intensity of his gaze from across the damn table. 

“Hey,” Tony says again, softly, and Steve’s lips tug into a smile. 

“Hey. Thank you for this.”

He laughs quietly. “What’s the point of having all this money if I can’t spend it on someone I’m interested in?”

He’s blushing again, he’s definitely blushing, because it’s been a while since he’s been on a date and he’s so damn _nervous _and Tony is almost untouchably beautiful. 

“You still with me?”

Steve snaps out of his own thoughts. 

“What?”

Another laugh, and Steve wonders how exactly he has ended up on a date with someone who has a laugh like this. A laugh that makes him feel an unfamiliar mix of proud and awed, and all he wants to do is make him laugh again.

“You were staring. Also, I can literally _hear _your brain freaking out.”

“I'm not-”

“Stop freaking out. It’s dinner, and no one is judging, least of all me.”

He really, really, _really _likes him. 

“It’s ridiculously nice, and I’m underdressed.”

“So?” Tony says calmly, gaze steady on his own. 

“_So,” _Steve says, and suddenly his anxiety levels have rocketed up, “I’m guessing you don’t make a habit of going to nice or important places underdressed?”

There is a beat of silence, and when he looks at Tony again, he’s wearing a slightly guilty, yet woefully unapologetic smile. Steve raises his eyebrows, smiling slightly just because Tony is smiling, and its goddamn infectious.

“What did you do?”

If possible, Tony’s smile becomes even more guilty.

“I went to a board meeting in jeans and a sweatshirt, because I had one of the worst hangovers of my life.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.” His smile fades slightly. “Obie was not impressed.”

“Obie?”

He catches Tony reaching for the fork, but then seemingly change his mind half way there and move his hand back to its original place. A second later, his fingers start tapping out a beat on the table cloth, and Steve realises that his hands are constantly in motion, constantly doing something. It's ridiculously captivating, and he knows that if Nat was here, she would be laughing at him. Somehow, he can't bring himself to care.

“Yeah, Obie is my... uncle, I guess you could say. Not biologically, but he’s my father’s best friend, and he treats me like a nephew. He wasn’t happy about having to explain to a board of directors why fifteen year old me looked like I had crawled out of hell.”

It’s Steve’s turn to laugh, but once the words sink in, the humour fades quickly. Fifteen, and board meetings and hangovers had already been a part of his life. 

_Who’s looking out for you? _Steve thinks, but he doesn’t say it. How can he? Tony is 18 now, and perfectly capable of looking out for himself. 

Steve changes the subject, because despite the lightness of Tony’s tone, he can see something a little darker in his gaze that hadn’t been there a minute ago. 

“So maybe… you could make your little coffee breaks a regular thing?”

Tony grins, raising his eyebrows, eyes lighting up.

“Why? Do you like the attention sweetheart?”

Steve shrugs, ignoring the blush he can feel rising on his face and not bothering to deny it. 

“Yes.”

Tony’s smile turns catlike, and there’s something in his eyes that is a whole other type of darkness. Steve isn’t sure he’s breathing as the billionaire reaches out, trailing his fingers over his arm. 

“Sure you can handle it?”

“Can I take your order?”

Steve coughs, flushing bright red, and Tony takes his hand away before he can even blink. He’s leaning back slightly in his chair now, and Steve can see that every line of his body is a little more tense, even though his tone is even. 

“Can we have some bottled water and two cappelletti in brodo di cappone?” 

He glances at Steve, eyes questioning, clearly wondering if it Steve was okay with him ordering on his behalf. He nods with a half smile, finally feeling his nerves ebbing away. Tony knows the restaurant, so he trusts him to know what’s good to eat too.

The waitress smiles, and Steve can see something change in her expression as she relaxes slightly, addressing Tony.

“Sei Italiano?”

_Oh._ Even he can understand that much, but for the second time, he see's Tony's face light up as the billionaire laughs with a nod

"Io sono mezzo italiano,” Tony glances at Steve, and smiles again. He never wants to stop seeing Tony smile. “But my friend isn’t, so maybe we can stick to English.”

She nods, and leaves with their order. Tony turns back to him with a slightly apologetic grin. “Sorry about that.”

“I didn’t know you were Italian.” He doesn't mention that he had found it ridiculously hot. The expression on his face most likely speaks for itself, if Tony's knowing smirk is any indication.

Steve wonders how many people know he speaks Italian, wonders if its something he uses with all of his dates-

_Okay, don't go there right now._

He re-focuses his attention on Tony, watching as he starts to spin the fork between his middle and index fingers. “My mother is Italian. I don’t use it a lot, but I like coming here. It’s one of the only properly authentic Italian places in New York.

Steve nods slowly, “Well. It’s beautiful.”

_You're beautiful._

Then Tony smiles at him, and he swears it's like the rest of the world falls away.

Their food comes a few minutes later, and he’s honestly never had pasta this good in his life. Ever. 

“This is..." He's not sure _how_ to describe it.

“I know,” Tony grins. “This is my ultimate playing card. The pasta here is some of the best in the world apart from in Italy.”

“Thank you so much, for all of this.”

“Like I said, I like to spend the money I have.”

Steve feels a tiny flicker of bitterness at this, because Tony has grown up in a perfect life where he’s never _not _had anything he wanted, a life that Steve can’t even begin to imagine. 

He pushes that out of his mind, because he hates them, and Tony is buying him dinner somewhere he could never _hope _to afford. He can be grateful. He _is _grateful. 

“So,” Tony’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “Tell me something about yourself?”

Steve smiles despite himself. “I swear I’m not that interesting.”

Tony leans forwards, resting his chin on his hand. 

“Somehow I doubt that. You’re studying at NYU right?”

He nods. “Yeah, at The Institute Of Art. I want to do something with art in life. Maybe teach kids, I’m not really sure.”

“You any good?”

“Not really.”

Tony pokes his arm gently, eyes glittering with humour. “Somehow I doubt that.”

And now Steve is smiling again, ducking his head slightly to hide the fact that he’s grinning like an idiot. 

They talk for hours in the tiny restaurant. Tony orders them both desserts when the clock hits 11, and it’s a cake that’s sweet and soft, and it’s _good. _

He doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to go back to his apartment. He wants to stay and talk to Tony forever. Conversation comes easily, as long as they avoid Tony’s parents, and work, which isn’t hard to do.

By the end of the evening, Tony’s face has gone from guarded to relaxed 

“Steve?”

“Yeah?” He lifts his head, meeting Tony’s gaze, and he gives Steve a look that is so similar to the one he had given him when they’d kissed. It’s happy, open, and so very honest. A part of him knows that not a lot of people will ever see that expression, so something warm lights in his chest at the sight of it. 

“Thank you for coming to dinner with me. I think-” He breaks off, glancing down at the fork that Steve can still see spinning between his fingers. He’s got a scar on his index finger, running down the entire length of it. When he speaks again, it comes out in a rush. “We should do it again. This, or something else, or-”

“Tony.” He reaches across the table, curling his hands around both of Tony’s, and gently taking the fork, laying it back down on the table. “Yes. We should go out again, I would _really _like to go out again. And then again, and again.”

Tony smiles, tracing a finger across Steve’s palm. All his awkwardness seems to have vanished “You sure you can deal with dating me sweetheart?”

“Dating, like…” Steve searches his eyes, but they’re unreadable again. “Like boyfriends?”

Tony shrugs, gently tugging his hands away and twisting them together. He’s nervous, Steve realises, and it’s that knowledge that makes him smile as Tony nods, flicking his eyes up to meet Steve’s.

“Yes. If you’d like that?”

Part of him wonders if it’s too soon. He’s only just met Tony, doesn’t know a lot about him. But… 

“I think… I think I would like that a lot. Yes.” 

Tony’s smile is worth it, worth everything. Fuck it being too soon. He takes Tony’s hand, lifting it to his lips and pressing a kiss to it. He swears he hears his breath catch, and a smile tugs at his lips. 

“Thank you again for dinner.”

“Well, you are my _boyfriend_. So I’m definitely allowed to treat you.”

Boyfriend. God, he’s in deep shit already, and he still can’t stop _smiling_. Tony pays with his credit card, and leaves a tip for the waitress that’s roughly equivalent to Steve’s weekly wage, and will undoubtedly make her night. But he doesn’t care right now, because as they leave the restaurant, Tony takes his hand. 

It’s dark out, which he suspects is deliberate on Tony’s part. He doesn’t fully understand his worry about being seen together, but the least he can do is respect it for the moment, at least until he knows some more.

The restaurant is close enough to Steve’s apartment that they can walk, and they make their way back slowly, seeing as Tony has insisted on getting him home safe. There’s a part of him that warms at the words, despite the amusement that accompanies the feeling. Tony is shorter than him, and built more like a dancer than a fighter. His fingers are covered in calluses though, that much he can feel from the tight grip on his hand. 

They reach his apartment, and Steve turns, bending slightly to kiss him. The billionaire relaxes into it, smiling against his lips. When Steve pulls away, the words are out of his mouth before he can take them back, and he doesn’t think he wants to anyway. 

“Do you want to come up?”

Surprise. That’s surprise he can see on Tony’s face, and something else, something almost resigned. 

“Your roommate won’t be annoyed?”

“I think he’s out having a drink.”

Tony raises his eyebrows, and when he speaks, his voice is flat and emotionless, the change in him instant. “You’re that eager to get Tony Stark into bed?”

Steve flinches as if he’s been slapped, and Tony seems to realise he’s gone too far and draws back, but his expression doesn't change. The warmth in his chest has vanished as Steve stares at him with wide eyes. 

“You think that’s why I want to be with you? Because I want to be able to say I’ve fucked a celebrity?”

Tony’s eyes are what scare him the most. They’ve emptied out, and he doesn’t know why, he doesn’t know how to _fix_ the look on his face. 

“That’s usually the reason, yes.”

“I- Jesus Tony. That’s not why I like you. I like you because you’re funny and smart and I like being around you.” _Too fast Rogers, tone it down a bit_. “I was going to suggest we watch a movie, that’s all.”

Tony just looks at him, and slowly, the hard, unreachable look in his eyes fades slightly. 

“A movie.”

“Yeah. I don’t want… you’re ridiculously hot. But I don’t want to rush, or do anything you’re not okay with.”

Tony is still looking at him with that expression, like this… this conversation, this _respect,_ is not something he gets often. Like he doesn’t deserve it. He looks so young in the moment, and Steve feels his heart in his throat.

Steve gets an almost overwhelming urge to hug him and never let go, but he doubts the billionaire would appreciate it. 

“Tony?” He says instead, searching his eyes and brushing a thumb over his cheek. “We don’t have to watch a movie if you don’t want to.”

He watches as he swallows hard, clearly dragging himself out of his own thoughts. When Tony smiles at him, there’s an ache in Steve's chest, because it’s the practiced one, and it’s no longer fully real. 

“A movie would be good.”

He wants to ask, wants to know what made him look like that, what it was that made him think that all Steve wants is sex…

But all he says it “Okay,” and then he takes Tony’s hand again, gripping tight as he leads him up to his apartment. 

When Steve unlocks the door and leads Tony towards his room, he has a moment of doubt. His room is… a mess. The place is a mess, if he’s honest. Clint isn’t the tidiest roommate, and he never makes an effort to clean up properly. 

“I know it’s not-”

“I love it,” Tony says with a quiet laugh, glancing around the room. “It’s personal.” There’s a pause, and Steve can see him looking around, taking it all in. 

“Is that a captain America hoodie Mr Rogers?”

Steve blushes, crossing his arms. 

“Maybe. It’s comfortable.”

Tony smirks, throwing it at him before sitting down on the bed. “It looks it. Pretty sure Rhodey has the same one.”

“Rhodey?”

Tony tilts his head to one side as he looks at him, a half smile on his face. 

“My best friend. He’s in the Air Force.”

“That’s cool.” Steve sits down next to him, grabbing his laptop and pulling it open. “Is there anything you want to watch?”

Tony leans back against the wall, tugging Steve into place next to him. “I don’t mind. You pick?” He glances at his laptop. “No offence sweetheart, but that computer looks a little dead.”

Steve pulls a face. “I’ve had it for a while, but it works.”

Tony runs his hand over the computer, and he’s got a look of intense focus on his face as he examines the screen, playing around with some of the keys 

“Your hard drive is fucked, so your work might not be saving properly. I can probably fix it.”

Steve raises his eyebrows, glancing between his boyfriend and the computer. (Boyfriend. He isn’t sure if that word will ever stop making him smile.)

“You can do that?”

Tony shrugs, pushing the laptop back towards him. 

“Sure. I like computers, it’ll be fun.”

“Fun wouldn’t be the word I’d use.”

Tony laughs, and it makes Steve smile because it sounds happy. _He _sounds happy. 

“It is fun, I swear. Now pick a film.”

He pokes him gently on the shoulder. “Fun fact. I can’t make decisions. You choose, genius.”

Tony raises his eyebrows and smiles, leaning in to kiss him.

“Nope.”

“You’re so stubborn,” Steve mutters, but then he kisses him again, and again, and again. 

Steve closes his eyes, sliding the laptop off his lap, and bringing his hands up to run them through Tony’s mess of curls as he tugs him closer. 

“_Shit,_” Tony whispers against his mouth, and Steve feels like he’s floating. This is something he could do forever, he thinks. Kissing Tony is addictive, and he never wants to stop-

A phone rings. 

“Leave it,” Steve murmurs against his skin, kissing down his neck. Tony’s breath hitches, but he shakes his head, pulling away gently. 

“Have to take it. It’s work.”

“It’s _1 am.” _

“They don’t care.” His tone is bitter, resigned. “I’ll be one second.”

Steve lets him go as Tony pushes himself up into a sitting position, answering the call. 

“Tony Stark.”

His voice has shifted into something else. Stark Industries Tony is like a different person, and it's someone he knows nothing about. Steve watches him and sees his face change in half a second as the other person on the phone speaks. There’s silence for a minute, and then Tony starts to talk, his voice tense. 

“Yeah I left early. I’d been working all- No I’m not _bunking. _Jesus this isn’t fucking _high school-” _

The voice on the other side is a little louder now, and Tony grits his teeth, turning away from Steve. It’s like he doesn’t want him to hear, even though they’re still so close that it would be impossible for him _not _to.

“Tell him then. He won’t give two shits and you know it.”

Steve sees his grip tightening on the phone as the conversation continues, and he touches his shoulder gently. He doesn’t miss how Tony flinches slightly, and backs off instantly, giving him space as the conversation continues. 

“No. I know. I was just-” there’s more talking, and Tony closes his eyes. Steve wants to reach out, wants to take his hand. He doesn’t move. Seconds later the other person hangs up, and Tony shoves the phone back into his pocket with a lot more force than necessary. 

“Is everything okay?” Steve says quietly, and Tony doesn’t answer. His eyes are still shut tight, hands curled into fists around the sheets on the bed. 

“Tony?”

His eyes open, and when Tony turns towards him, Steve sees a second of something terrified in his eyes before it vanishes. In the dim lighting of the room, Tony reminds him of some sort of fallen prince, messy curls, unreadable eyes and a shadow that seems to have etched itself into every pane of his face. For the first time in a while, he gets the urge to freeze time just so he can draw the scene before him. 

“Kiss me,” Tony says quietly, reaching up and trailing his fingers over Steve’s face, over his lips. “Just kiss me, okay?”

He doesn’t want to let it go, doesn’t want to let Tony sit and deal with whatever the hell that was alone. But they’ve known each other for less than a week, and it’s none of his business. 

So instead he pulls Tony closer and kisses him hard, harder than before, hoping that he can help him to forget whatever demons he’s managed to find himself caught up with. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this! If anyone wants to come and yell at me, my instagram and tumblr are @wordsxstars. Thank you for the support on this!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi so if Tony's internal monologue makes absolutely no sense then I apologise but I sort of feel that's the kind of place his head is in right now so-  
Also, warnings for past mentions of dubious consent and assault. It's barely there but it's still sort of in it so just be careful xxx  
Final note before I shut up: a disclaimer about my editing. There sort of isn't a process, so if you see any mistakes or grammar errors or tense errors etc etc etc just ignore them and don't judge me too much :)

When Tony wakes up the next morning, he thinks he might be dreaming. He rolls over gently, trying not to move the bed too much, and picks up his phone to check the time. It’s 5am. 

He glances back over his shoulder, a small smile rising on his face as he sees Steve lying asleep face down next to him, the laptop abandoned on the floor. He rolls back over, just letting himself admire the boy in bed next to him. He’s half in shadows because of the dark lighting in the room, but _god, _he’s so beautiful. Tony reaches out, smoothing some of his hair away from his face, and smiles slightly as Steve leans into his touch, still asleep. His skin is so soft, and _so_ warm, and Tony wants nothing more than to stay here, learning more about how Steve feels, how he kisses. 

He hadn’t thought he’d ever be one for physical contact, not after everything. But here they are, and Tony is more relaxed than he’s been in a long while. 

Neither of them have their shirts on, but it hadn’t gone any further than that. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or not. 

Honestly, it’s been a while since he’s been on a date that _hasn’t _ended in sex. Girls, it’s always girls, and he’s always drunk, and they’re always desperate to spend the night with him. Most of the time, he’s not interested, not really, but it’s fine. As Obie says, he created a reputation for himself at college, and now it’s his job to uphold it, even if he never remembers the night. He always remembers saying yes though, so that’s something. Apart from with-

_No. _He’s not thinking about Ty now. He’s _not. _

Point is, it’s usually an assumption, even if he’s not really sure it’s what he wants. Have a drink with Tony Stark, make out with Tony Stark, and fuck Tony Stark. In that order. Apart from Steve, who just wanted to watch a movie and kiss him and make him laugh. It makes Tony want to cry, and then protect him from the worst parts of the world.

But what happens when the worst parts of the world come with dating Howard Stark’s son? Can he still be selfish?

No, he really, _really_ can’t be selfish with Steve. But he wants to be, more than he’s wanted anything ever. 

Swallowing hard, Tony eases himself out of bed, careful not to wake Steve up, and pads across the floor to pick up his shirt that had been discarded last night. 

Steve stirs, rolling over and opening his eyes, and Tony mutters a curse in Italian, going still, caught halfway to the door. 

“Are you sneaking out?”

His voice is quiet, sleepy, and Tony gets the unfamiliar urge to get right back into bed with him and stay there all day. 

_Selfish. _

“Yes.”

Steve pushes himself up into a sitting position, and Tony is _definitely not _looking at his literally perfect abs, nope. He’s not. He’s _not. _He forces his eyes back to Steve’s face, and it looks like his brain is struggling to catch up with what Tony is saying, body still half asleep.

“Why?”

It’s still dark outside, but there’s a shaft of light from a street lamp through the window. Steve looks beautiful like this, all soft edges smoothed by sleep and those goddamn _blue_ eyes that Tony could get lost in. He really fucking wants to just get lost in them. 

_Selfish. _

“Because-” he doesn’t have a reason, not really. He can’t tell Steve he’s scared of staying, because he doesn’t want to break one of the only good things in his life. Not that Steve is in his life, not that he _deserves _to have him in his life. So instead he reverts back to the method of getting people to back off he’s actually good at.

“I have to get into work early.”

Steve frowns, glancing at his phone. 5:30am. 

“At five in the morning?” 

He forces his voice to sound flat, bored. “I have a _real_ job Steve. I can’t just stay in your bed for the whole day.”

Steve blinks at him, the haze of sleep finally clearing all the way as he stands up, shrugging the sheets off him. 

“I know, I’m not stupid. But why the rush?”

Tony shakes his head, not giving an answer. He’s not sure if he can. He grabs his keys and jacket and pulls it on. The cold is back with a vengeance, and so is the noise in his head. He can’t meet Steve’s eyes; he doesn’t want to see the look on his face. 

“I have to go.”

Steve takes a step towards him, grabbing his hand before he can leave. His grip is gentle, and Tony knows he could break it if he tried. It’s the only thing that stops the reflex of flinching away. He hates it, he hates that he has that reflex, that instinct. He hates that he has to push his boyfriend away from the mess that is his head. 

“Hey, what’s going on? Talk to me.”

His hands are warm, and Tony just wants to lean against him and hide from the whole world until he feels brave enough to face it. It’s selfish, he’s selfish. He feels Steve’s hand on his cheek, gently tilting his chin up to look at him. 

“What’s going on?” He says again, softly. 

Tony has never wanted something this much, ever. Steve’s hands are steady, and his voice is steady, and so soothing, so _grounding_. It’s like an anchor in the constant whirlwind that is Tony’s mind. But he _can’t _let himself give in to this, because _someone _will find out. 

So he just shakes his head, pulling away with a smile that he knows Steve doesn’t believe. When he lets his hands drop, something in Tony aches for the warmth to return. It’s fine. He can get coffee on the way to work. It’s_ fine, _even though he knows that the November chill isn’t what the problem is. He feels sick, nausea rolling in his stomach, and he knows that today isn’t going to be a good day, he knows it’ll be worse than it’s been so far. 

“I’ll come by the coffee shop later, have a good morning.”

_Stark men are made of iron. _

His father tells him that, tells him whenever one of his many masks slips slightly. Most people spend their lives trying to see beyond the armour, if they ever realise it’s not the real him. Howard has spent his life making sure no one sees anything other than what he wants them to.

Tony turns around and leaves before he can change his mind.

The cold remains. 

-

He goes back to his apartment first, changing into a suit, because he would bet his life that Obie is going to be in a shit mood today after that phone call, and he would rather be on the side of caution. 

He’s just picked up his phone to call Happy when he hears a key turn in the lock. For a second, hope jumps in his chest at the thought that it could be Steve, Steve could have come round and-

Steve doesn’t have a key to his apartment. 

Steve has never even _been _to his apartment. 

The only people who have a key to his apartment other than him are Rhodey, because he trusts him, and Obie, because Howard had said so, and it hadn’t been a tone that promoted a lot of argument. 

He knows Rhodey is out of town. So Obie then. He ignores the dread that settles in his stomach, ignores the fact that he wants to do nothing more than turn back time to kissing Steve.

“Tony. I was beginning to think you’d never get back.”

_He knows_, Tony thinks, but that’s impossible, and ridiculous, and he can’t know, he _can’t. _

He smirks, taking a seat at one of his bar stools. His father and Obie view him as a playboy, he knows that much. So let them. 

“I was…busy.” A camera-ready smile, and he can see the expression on Obie’s face, and he knows he’s bought the lie, or at least accepts it for now. 

“Make sure it doesn’t interfere with your work.”

“It won’t.”

“I hope not.” Obie says, giving him a look that makes his heart leap into his throat. Because _god _what if he knows?

“It won’t be a problem.” Tony says smoothly. “Will that be all?”

“Actually, no.”

He feels his heart in his stomach, but none of it shows on his face. 

“Oh?”

“Happy told me about a sweet little coffee shop that you like. I need some caffeine, and it’s close by. Know the one?”

_He fucking knows. _

How he knows, or at least suspects, is beyond Tony. Maybe the bartender, maybe the waitress, maybe someone else. 

It’s a test, it has to be. If Tony walks in there and knows Steve, acts like he likes him, any lingering doubt Obadiah has will be wiped away. 

And then he’ll know that all he has to do to get Tony to stop fighting him on every tiny thing is go after Steve.

Saying no is suspicious, but going normally is also suspicious. 

The solution is obvious, but it makes Tony feel sick. 

He smiles past it, grabbing his coat, ignoring the slight tremble that runs through his hands. 

“Sure. The coffee is nice.”

He leads the way out of the apartment, and tries to work out if Steve, the most honest person he knows, will ever forgive him. 

-

He calls Happy, and if the other man is surprised to see Obadiah, he doesn’t say it. 

The drive to the cafe is made in silence, and Tony forces his hands to remain still, not looking at Obie. Every turn of the car makes his stomach lurch, and he closes his eyes. There’s something that he can only describe as white noise in his head, and he hates it. 

It’s fucking freezing, and Happy has the heating on full blast.

-

When they pull up outside the cafe, Tony opens his eyes and glances at Obadiah. There’s a look of immense satisfaction on his face, and that’s when Tony knows he has to fucking sell this, because Obie has already made up his goddamn mind about the entire situation. 

A part of him wonders if it would be better to just say fuck it, fuck Obadiah, fuck Howard and fuck the company. But then he remembers staying with his parents in the summer, and any lingering courage wilts and dies. 

He’s never been good at being brave, or selfless. 

Steve had to find that out eventually, one way or another. 

He takes a deep breath, adjusting his iron grip on the stupid amount of emotions that are making it had to get air into his lungs. He pulls the pair of dark sunglasses out of his pocket, sliding them on. He hasn’t worn them in a while, hasn’t had the need to. 

He knows people can’t read his expression, but he won’t risk it, not with Steve. 

If Rhodey was here, he would be able to help him down from this. It’s a detached sort of panic, he’s not even sure he’s _in _his body anymore. It’s like his brain is working on autopilot, and it’s so stupid because it’s just coffee, and it’s just Steve but he’s so _scared-_

He looks at Happy and Obie, flashing a smile. 

“Anything in particular?”

“Cappuccino,” says Happy quietly, and Tony looks away from the pity in his eyes, turning back to Obadiah. 

“You wanted coffee, right?”

“Double shot latte,” Obie says with a smirk, getting out of the car and leaning against it. From this angle, he’ll have a good view of the entirety of the cafe, and Tony fucking hates him for it.

“Be quick,” Obadiah says, and then pulls out his phone, a clear dismissal. Swallowing the mix of anger and nausea, Tony walks inside, sliding his hands into his pockets. 

As he’d thought, Steve is already there, serving coffee with that goddamn _smile _that makes Tony want to kiss him breathless 

He lifts his chin, walking over to the front. There’s no queue, so he’s got five seconds to figure out how to do this, how to say _something. _

His mind is blank. 

God, It’s so _loud _

Steve’s face lights up as he sees him, a slight blush rising on his cheeks. 

“Tony, hey!”

“Hi,” he says quietly, because he doesn’t trust his voice to do anything else. “Can I have two double shot lattes and a cappuccino?”

“Sure,” Steve says softly, that smile still on his face, and Tony wants to cry. He needs to explain, needs to get him alone, away from Obie watching, and just explain. He can hear his heart in his ears; it’s beating fast. 

“Listen,” he says, dropping the volume of his voice, speaking quickly. “I need to-”

The bell chimes; signalling that someone has walked into the cafe, and Tony’s mouth snaps shut. It could be anyone, but the dread building, and the smell of expensive cologne says otherwise. 

“What’s taking so long?”

Tony feels his heart shudder to a halt in his chest, as Obie claps him on the shoulder. He’s too close, and every inch of Tony wants to take a step backwards, to _run. _The smell of Obadiah’s cologne worms his way up his nose, and his stomach lurches 

He doesn’t move, and he knows his expression is blank. Knows it because there’s a look on Steve’s face that he never wants to see again. 

“I’ve got a meeting in half an hour. Hurry the hell up.” 

Tony sees the confusion on Steve’s face, ignores it. He forces his tone smooth out, forces his smile to sharpen. 

“Apologies.” Tony casts a glance at Steve, a once over that he knows will leave him feeling like nothing but dust on the bottom of a shoe, like a mild inconvenience at best. He’s always been good at giving that particular look; his father had taken care of it. “The staff here don’t seem to know the meaning of speed.” 

Steve’s face. His _face. _

He doesn’t think he’s ever hated himself more in his life. 

He watched as Steve takes a step back, hurt flickering over his face, and part of Tony wants to just run, and get as far away from the entire situation as possible. 

But he did this, _he _put the hurt there. Too late to back out now, and he needs to sell it, needs Obie to buy it. 

“Remind me why you like this place?” That’s Obie, his voice low and mocking. For a second, Tony’s anger is stronger than any other emotion, but he doesn’t speak. “You need to change up your coffee shops apparently.”

Tony laughs, and it’s something cold, nothing like the bright laughter from last night. The laugh is autopilot, he can’t really think anymore. Everything’s a mess, and he’s cold. He’s so cold. Everything is fucking cold and something in his head is screaming at him to run and fix it, to _fix_ the look on Steve’s face-

Obie takes his coffee, Tony takes the other two. 

“Maybe a change wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

They walk away a second later without a backwards glance. 

His hands are shaking. He gives both cups of coffee to Happy outside without explanation, throat tight. 

It’s only once they reach the car that Tony realises he never paid for the drinks. 

He forces himself to keep walking.

The cold remains. 

-

Tony lasts three hours in the office before he breaks. 

He goes back to his apartment before lunch, but skips food and goes into the room he uses as a lab, changing out of his suit and into jeans and a battered ACDC t-shirt that he hasn’t worn since college. 

There are spare parts strewn across the bench, and Dum-e, a bot he made at MIT, is rolling around the room, occasionally bumping into him. 

Tony’s own words ring in his ears

_The staff here don’t seem to know the meaning of speed._

If Steve never wants to look at him again, he won’t blame him. 

Dum-e knocks against his leg, beeping quietly, and Tony gets a stupid, _childish_ urge to cry. He’s a mess, a fucking mess of too many emotions, which just proves the point that he shouldn’t be _allowed _to get close to people. Every time it happens, it ends badly. It’s usually his fault; it’s _always _his fault. 

The robot beeps at him again, sounding almost concerned, and he blinks hard, dragging a hand across his eyes. He won’t cry, he _won’t. _Not now, not because of this. 

Instead, he goes into the kitchen, and starts to make a pot of coffee. He wants to call Steve, he wants to explain-

_Selfish._

He doesn’t call him. 

-

Two days later, it’s the same. A mug of coffee, working in the lab. He goes into the office in the mornings, and then goes back to the apartment in the afternoons. Obie doesn’t care, because there’s nothing to care about now that Tony’s next _scandal _has been avoided. 

He has just finished the first mug when his phone rings. He ignores it, because if Obie wants to fucking shout at him again, he can drag his ass all the way over here to do it. 

Seconds after it stops, the phone rings again. 

Tony yanks the thing out of his pocket, swearing under his breath. He’s not in the mood-

It’s not the work phone. 

_Fuck. _

He hesitates for half a second, and then picks up the phone. 

“Hello?”

“Tony?” Steve’s voice is quiet, and Tony is ashamed of the way he feels himself relax at the sound of it. 

“Hi.” He keeps his voice steady, fingers tapping out a beat on his thigh. He hasn’t spoken to Steve for two days, has wanted to a million times, but hasn’t. Because Steve is undoubtedly angry, and Tony… he can give him the space. He _can. _

“Are you- can you talk right now?”

“Not here.” He doesn’t know if Obie has bugged the place. Probably. 

“Come over?”

Tony doesn’t answer, staring at his mug of coffee, but not really looking at it at all. 

Steve wants him to come over to talk. Is that a breakup line? Probably. He’s not really sure what a breakup line sounds like. This is definitely it though-

“Okay,” he says, releasing a breath. If it’s a breakup line, he deserves it. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

He hangs up. 

He doesn’t bother with a coat, just taking a hoodie and walking out. He could call Happy, he probably _should _call Happy. But there’s a part of him that just wants to go alone, and the thought of talking to anyone other than Steve right now seems insane. 

He knows he fucked it up, because the look on Steve’s face will probably haunt him forever. The betrayal, the hurt, the sheer confusion because only hours before, Tony had been in his bed, kissing him, smiling. 

And then… nothing. 

He can’t explain it, how can he? How can he explain that Obie finding out isn’t only bad, but dangerous, for Tony _and_ for Steve. He’s dangerous, because powerful people are dangerous people, and Obadiah, no matter how much Tony hates him, is _very_ powerful. 

He takes the subway to Steve’s place, keeping his sunglasses on and his hood up. He doesn’t get recognised, which is a relief, because he doesn’t have the energy for that today. When he gets there, he knocks once, trying to keep some sort of control over his expression. 

When Steve opens the door (it opens fast), he smiles, and even though it’s a sad smile, it’s still so goddamn beautiful. 

“Hey.”

“Hi,” says Tony, swallowing hard and pulling the glasses off, because he’s _done_ with hiding from Steve. “You wanted to talk?”

Steve steps aside, giving him space to walk into the apartment. 

“Do you want anything?”

Tony shakes his head, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and sitting down on the edge of Steve’s bed. Clint is out again, and Tony is grateful for the privacy. 

Steve sits down on the bed facing him, and for once, Tony is struggling to read his expression. Or maybe that’s just his panic, though he’s not sure why he’s panicking, since the entire situation is completely his fault. The silence is what’s getting to him. It’s always what gets to him before an argument. It’s what gets to him with Howard, and it’s what’s making his heart rate speed up now-

“Are you breaking up with me?” He blurts out, instantly regretting it because _fucking hell, _could he be any more fucking _childish_?

Steve blinks at him, and that’s confusion on his face now. 

“No I-” there’s a second of silence, and Tony can feel his heart in his throat. “Who was that man with you in the cafe the other day?

It’s Tony’s turn to blink, frowning slightly. 

“Obie?”

“Yeah.” Steve looks… he looks pissed_. _“Him.”

“What about him?” Says Tony slowly, unsure where the conversation is going. 

“Why are you so scared of him?”

Tony recoils slightly, instantly realising his mistake in reacting, and trying desperately to cover it up. 

“What the hell do you mean?”

“I mean,” says Steve slowly, carefully, “why are you scared of him? What did he do?”

“He didn't-”

“That’s not what it looked like,” he says, and Steve’s voice is hard. He’s looking right into Tony’s eyes with a stubborn expression that even _he _hesitates to argue with. He just wants- he wants to tell him, and he wants Steve to protect him from it all. But how far does protection go when its from two of the most powerful men in the country.

“I told you,” says Tony steadily, a lot more steadily than he’s feeling right now, “I’m not scared of him.”

“Then why did you treat me like dust on your shoe?” Tony doesn’t answer, because Steve isn’t done, and he just wants to hear it all first. “You ignoring me? That hurt. And then I was angry, and then…I was just confused, because it wasn’t you. It’s _not _you. You froze as soon as he walked in, and then acted like you didn’t know me. Why?”

There it is. There’s what he’s been expecting since he walked in. 

_Because I was fucking terrified for you, and I don’t want my mistakes to cost you, not now, not ever. _

“Because I’m an asshole Steve, hasn’t anyone told you that?”

It’s a lie. It’s a stupid fucking lie because yeah he’s an asshole but he didn’t want to be one to Steve, never to Steve. 

“I don’t believe you,” he says quietly, and Tony laughs, because he doesn’t know what else to do, he doesn’t know how to _deal _with this. 

He’s drowning, has been drowning for a while now. 

He won’t drag Steve down with him. 

“That’s not my problem, is it?”

“Tony,” he says, and it’s something sad, his voice, something desperate. “Please just _talk_ to me.”

He can’t. He _can’t. _Because he refuses to be seen as weak, not by Steve, especially not by Steve, because he’s _better _than this and maybe if he was better it wouldn’t even fucking _happen-_

_Enough. _He drags himself out of the spiral, slamming down a lid on the things that he aches to say, the things that he only ever tells Rhodey. 

He can tell Steve part of the truth at least, he owes him this much after treating him like shit. 

_Breathe. _

He meets his eyes, releasing the breath slowly. The anger has vanished, the will to push him away has vanished. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t. But he can’t have Steve looking at him with pity, he _can’t, _and he’s just-

Tired. Cold. _Tired_. 

“My company- my _father's_ company… it’s not the most forward thinking.”

Steve frowns, and Tony’s heart is _aching _because he’s so fucking honest, and he’s probably never even had to _consider _coming out, because hiding such an important part of himself has never been an option for Steve. 

“Like… they don’t know you’re gay?”

“Bi,” he corrects gently, though he thinks he’s a bit past correcting people on his sexuality. The press know him as one thing, and hopefully it will _stay _that way. “But no. They don’t know. No one does, apart from you and Rhodey.” Pepper probably does, she’s too smart not to, and Happy isn’t stupid either. 

If Steve is surprised by the information, it doesn’t show on his face, and Tony wonders if he’s judging and hiding it well, or if it just doesn’t matter to him.

“What would happen if they did?”

He knows it’s not a threat, and it’s just Steve asking a question, but a tiny flicker of fear runs through him all the same. He squashes it fast.

“They would probably cut me from the company, leak it to the press, and then the New York tabloids would come and camp out on my doorstep for the next year. Then they’ll drag you into it, and you’ll have no privacy for… a long time.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

And that’s not even the fucking worst part because if he ever found out, Howard would-

“Look,” Tony says carefully, because he’s not in a position to be pushing Steve for anything, not after today. “I didn’t want to-” _try again. _“I never wanted to hurt you. I never _want _to hurt you. I just don’t want you to get your life ruined, and I don’t want to have to deal with all of that other shit right now, because that’s not something I’m ready to do.”

_Selfish. _

It’s not an apology, and he doesn’t want to apologise anyway. He wants Steve to understand, he wants to explain, but not apologise. He would do it again, however much it made him hate himself. Obie is dangerous, and Tony refuses to let Steve get ruined by mistakes that aren’t his own. 

Steve lets out a breath, reaching out and taking his hand gently. 

“Some warning would be nice, some sort of warning. I just-”

“I didn’t mean any of it,” Tony says quickly, because if there is one fucking thing he can reassure Steve of, it’s this. “I swear to god Steve, I was talking out of my ass. It’s the only sort of talk they _get,_ and I just had to-”

_Sell it. You had to sell it and you did. _

He always does. 

Steve nods, reaching up and brushing some hair out of his face, and Tony wants to cry again because everything about Steve is so gentle and soft but so strong, and he _is _going to fuck this up somehow, he _knows_ it-

“Stop overthinking,” he says, and Tony looks up, confused. 

“What?”

Steve leans in, pressing a kiss to one corner of his mouth, then the other. Tony closes his eyes, breathing out slowly and finally letting himself relax. 

“You’re overthinking, and worrying. I’m not breaking up with you, I’m not angry with you.” Steve’s voice is soft, and his hands are soft, and Tony is so fucking _tired_. He allows himself to be pulled into a hug, burying his face in the crook of Steve’s neck and just breathing him in. It’s so warm, he’s so warm, and Tony doesn’t really know when this happened, this desperate need for someone to tell him that it’s okay, and that _he’s _okay. 

“You must hate me,” Tony says, and it’s barely a whisper against Steve’s skin. 

“Baby I could never hate you,” Steve murmurs, fingers carding through his hair, and the soothing, constant rhythm is making him feel like he’s floating.

“But I-”

“Did what you thought was right. I don’t agree with it, and I hate that you have to do it, and you better give me some sort of warning next time, but I don’t hate you. I promise.”

“I’m sorry for hurting you.” He says quietly, because that’s the only thing he is sorry for, and right now, it feels like the only thing that really matters. 

The panic has long since faded, and he wonders when Steve became someone who could make that happen. He isn’t sure. It feels like a lifetime ago that they met in the coffee shop, but it’s been less than a week. A week, and so much has changed. A week doesn’t feel like enough time, but he feels like he’s known Steve forever. 

Steve pulls him closer, kissing him gently. 

“You know I don’t care about that anymore. I’m just worried about _you_.”

“I’m fine,” Tony says, and it’s a lie, of course it is, but he doesn’t care because at this point, it’s all okay, and Steve is _here_. 

Steve drops it, probably because he knows Tony doesn’t want to talk about anything else right now, and instead just holds tight. When he’s sure that he’s not about to break, Tony gently disentangles himself from the hug. 

“I have to go away this weekend.” 

Steve traces his fingers over Tony’s face, and he’s so _so _gentle. His eyes look really goddamn blue in the light. 

“For work?”

“My parents want to catch up.” His voice doesn’t waver, and he’s grateful. “They’re coming tomorrow, and I’ll be in a hotel with them. Probably won’t be able to talk much.”

“That’s okay, just… call if you need anything, okay?”

Tony rolls his eyes with a smile, lacing their hands together. “Yeah, okay. Promise.”

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Steve smiles, kissing him again. He looks like Tony feels, like he could stay kissing him forever. 

Tony swallows, gripping a little tighter to his hand as he pulls away. “I don’t want to-” There’s a beat, and Tony releases a shuddering breath. “Can I-”

Steve tilts his head to the side with a small smile.

“You want to stay?”

He knows. He knows what Tony is trying to ask without him even having to ask it. 

“We don’t need to do anything, I just don’t want to be-”

_Alone. _

_I don’t want to be alone. _

“Sure Tony,” Steve says gently, and something tense in his chest uncoils. “But if Clint wakes us both up at three in the morning, you’re not allowed to complain.”

He laughs, reaching up to pull Steve back in, kissing him, and then kissing him again. He really could do it forever, Tony thinks, closing his eyes. It’s finally quiet in his head, peaceful, _safe. _

For the first time in three days, he can’t feel the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this! If anyone wants to come and yell at me, my instagram and tumblr are @wordsxstars. Thank you for the support on this!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for physical abuse and mild panic attacks. (both are near the end)
> 
> Also, I am not Italian, so any Italian in here is a mix of three different translators and my friend who's taking Italian classes. If it's wrong, I'm sorry, and I swear I'm not trying to make anyone mad :,)

The dread sits inside of Tony like a physical weight. 

He feels fifteen again, trapped, claustrophobic, and scared. His thoughts feel jumbled, and everything feels wrong, heavy, terrifying. 

These are the things he knows.

It’s 11:49am. It’s Friday morning. 

His parents are coming at 3pm.

He has two texts from Steve, and they’re both wishing him luck with dinner. Steve’s iPhone sent the message twice 

He has a missed call from Rhodey. His friend knows, knows everything. Tony can’t talk to him now, because if he does, he might shatter. 

It’s now 11:50am, and he’s got three hours and ten minutes until they arrive. He doesn’t have time to go and see Steve again, because he doesn’t want to be caught off guard if his father decides to arrive early.

He left Steve’s apartment at 9, sliding out of bed and kissing him long and hard before leaving. He hadn’t wanted to drag it out. He hadn’t been sure if he could _survive _dragging it out. 

Now he’s at his apartment again, and it’s silent. Colder than Steve’s room. Dum-e is on the charging port, switched off. 

It’s so silent. 

Tony stands suddenly, needing to do _something. _He feels restless, and makes his way to the kitchen, taking out a coffee mug with a little more force than necessary. 

It’s like a clock. 

_Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. _

It’s 2 now; he’s not sure how the time has gone so fast. He forgot to eat lunch, but that doesn’t matter now. 

He has no fucking clue what to wear. Jeans. Shirt. Jacket. He doesn’t have one of Steve’s hoodies; he wants one of Steve’s. He wants Steve now, wants Rhodey, and wants a fucking _drink. _

_Tick. Tick. Tick. _

A call from Pepper. 

“This is Tony Stark.”

He doesn’t recognise his own voice. The panic hasn’t hit yet, he hasn’t given it the chance. It’s just numb. Detached. 

“Your father wants me to let you know that he’s going to be half an hour early.”

Of course he is, of course he’s trying to catch him out, of course he’s going through Pepper instead of just telling Tony himself. 

“Thanks for letting me know.”

“Tony-”

“Bye Pep.”

He hangs up. Finishes his coffee. Waits. 

_Tick. Tick. _

He hears the car pull up before he hears anything else, and his heart leaps in his chest. He squashes the panic before it can take root, brushing an invisible piece of dust off his shirt. It’s fine. He’s fine. 

A knock on the door, and he takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly before going to let them in. 

His mother is all smiles, air kissing his cheeks, her lipstick immaculate. She spends a minute speaking rapid Italian, telling him how _handsome _he is, how much she’s _missed _him. He manages a smile of his own, a real one, because he loves his mother and he loves her language and her family. So when he tells her quietly in Italian that he’s really missed her too, it’s not a lie. 

“Tony,” Obadiah says with a smirk, stepping into the hall. “You know your father doesn’t like you and Maria saying things he can’t understand.”

_Bastard. _He knows Obie only waited until he’d started talking to his mother to be able to say that in front of Howard. As if conjured up by his thoughts, his father follows Obadiah through the door. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t do anything other than look him up and down. It’s judgemental, nothing else. 

_Tick. _

For a second, no one speaks. Then Obie laughs quietly, slinging an arm around Tony’s shoulders. He doesn’t flinch, forces himself not to as the man speaks, too close. 

“Why don’t we take Tony down to the hotel and get the rooms sorted? It’s about an hour away.”

He hears his mother agree, gripping his hand before releasing it. 

“You don’t need anything from here, do you?”

His second phone, the one with Steve’s number, the one with Rhodey’s number, is in his jacket pocket in his room. Obadiah’s tone doesn’t leave a lot of space for arguing. 

Friday night, tomorrow morning, then he’s back in the afternoon. Steve’s words float back into his head. 

_Just call if you need anything, okay?_

He shoves his hands into his pocket, stepping neatly out from under Obie’s arm, and smiling. Steve wouldn’t believe the smile, nor would Rhodey. 

His mother buys it, his father isn’t looking. 

“I’ve got everything I need.”

“Perfect,” says Obadiah smoothly, pressing a hand against the small of his back to move him forwards. Tony does finch this time, and it’s barely noticeable, but he knows Obie feels it, knows he’s losing this battle of wills. 

He laughs at something his mother says, speaks when he’s supposed to, and avoids Howard’s gaze. 

They get into the car, Obie takes his hand off his back, and the drive passes in a blur. 

He wants Steve, he just wants to call Steve. 

He knows his number, but the clean phone is in his apartment in his jacket. According to his mother's watch, it’s 4:38 when they get to the hotel. 

They get inside, and Obie books him into the room. It’s next to his father’s

He would bet his life that both of them probably have keys. 

His mother wants to stay in the hotel for dinner, but Howard, as always, gets the last say. A fancy restaurant in town. Someone comes to his room and tells him that they’re leaving in an hour, and that he’s expected downstairs in fifty minutes. 

The clock ticks down to zero, but there’s nothing. It’s just silent. 

-

“You’re late,” Howard says as he walks out of the elevator, and Tony keeps his expression neutral. They’re the first words he’s said to him in a month. 

He’s one minute late, but he’s not going to start something now, not while Howard is just looking for things to make a point out of. 

So he doesn’t answer, glancing around the room. Just as he’s about to ask, his mother sweeps into the room and Howard gives her a smile, and all Tony can think is how light he face looks when he smiles, and that he can’t remember the last time his father smiled at him. 

He shoves his hands into his pockets, following Obadiah out of the lobby door. They’ve booked a car and Tony gets in first, pushing until he’s right up against the window. The glass is cold, soothing. 

His mother sits next to him, and something in his chest relaxes. 

When they reach the restaurant, Tony smiles slightly, because it’s another Italian place, and he’s pretty sure it’s one his mother picked. That’s at least one comfort for the evening. 

The waitress is nice. Obadiah tips her for the drinks with a look that lingers far too long, and Tony looks away, resisting the urge to tap out a rhythm on the table. 

“So you’ve been working in the office over the past few weeks.”

He’s almost surprised to hear Howard talking to him, but masks it well. 

“Yeah, it’s interesting work.” His tone is so careful, so neutral. 

Obie laughs, flinging an arm around his shoulders and Tony forces himself to lean into it, to relax, to laugh with him. 

“Your boy is lying Howard, it’s boring in the office. But he’s learning that there’s more out there than just making shit in a lab.”

He likes making things in a lab, it’s the only work he _does _enjoy. 

He doesn’t say that. 

The waitress brings their drinks, and Howard gives him a look that says everything when he takes the full glass Obadiah hands to him. It’s like standing on hot coals with the two of them. Please one, piss off the other. Frankly, he isn’t sure which is worse anymore. 

He drinks it, and Obie gives him another. 

It’s good, he thinks, even as the expensive whiskey burns slightly. It’s good, because he can hold his alcohol well, but he needs _something_ or he’s going to go insane. 

When his mother goes to the bathroom, he gets up to follow, because he just needs some _air. _As he stands, Howard grabs his wrist, and Tony flinches. Hard. It’s the opposite of Steve’s gentle grip. Tight enough to bruise. His heart is thudding in his chest, and he’s not really sure if he’s breathing anymore. They’re in a restaurant, it’s fine, it’s fine-

“Where are you going?”

_Breathe. _

“To the bathroom.” 

He’s so glad his voice is steady. So _fucking _glad that he’s good at keeping it steady. 

“Because of everything you’ve been drinking?”

Howard’s voice is low, soft. Tony doesn’t answer. Whatever he says, it won’t make a difference. He tugs slightly at his father's grip, and Howard releases him, turning back to Obadiah, who’s pretending he hasn’t heard all of that. 

“Just hurry the hell up.”

He locks the bathroom door behind him once he gets across the busy restaurant, bracing his hands on the sink and sucking in a breath. When he glances at the mirror, he looks fine. A little tense, but fine. Normal. He glances at his arm, and the skin is red. Not bruised, but it probably will be tomorrow. 

He splashes his face with cold water, closing his eyes for a second. He feels more jumpy than he had earlier, and some of the numbness has faded. He just-

Steve. 

_No. _

When he gets back to the table, they’re all laughing at something Obadiah has said. 

The rest of the evening goes quickly, and when they leave, Howard pays in cash, and its showy and loud and the exact opposite of what Tony does when he goes out. He paid by card when he took Steve out for dinner. With his father and Obadiah, it’s always cash. Always a show. 

“Va tutto bene?” [1] His mother says softly as they walk outside, and he nods with a smile, something in his chest aching. He misses her when she’s not here, he misses her a lot. 

“Drop it Maria,” says Howard, and there’s enough bite in his tone that Tony’s stomach lurches. His father is drunk, or has at least drunk enough to crack the composure a bit. He shifts closer to his mother, and instantly knows it's the wrong decision, because Howard’s eyes darken slightly. 

Fuck. _Fuck. _

He ignores his father for the remainder of the ride back, and he knows he’ll get hell for it later, but he also knows that by the time they’re all up the next day, Tony will have already left. 

When they get back to the hotel, there’s no grand goodbye. Obadiah and Howard go for another drink at the bar, and suddenly he’s left alone with Maria for the first time in… a while.

“Tony.” she says quietly, touching his arm. “Sei in silenzio stasera.” [2]

Her touch hurts, even though it’s gentle. There are definitely going to be bruises tomorrow. 

“Sto bene. Sono solo stanco,” [3] he says, matching her tone with a small, genuine smile. The words are soothing, and there’s something beautiful about the language that he’s never quite been able to get with anything else. 

She shakes her head with a sigh, kissing him on the cheek before going to her room. Just before she goes in, she turns back to him, switching to English.

“You know your father is only hard on you because he loves you.”

All other thoughts leave his head because she-

_She doesn’t know. _

Of course she doesn’t. Of _fucking course _she doesn’t. Why would she? Howard is good at hiding it, and now so is Tony. There’s no _reason _for her to know. 

“Buonanotte mamma.” [4] He says, because he’s not sure what else to say. He just wants to sleep, he wants _Steve. _

“Ti voglio bene,” [5] she says with a smile, and he murmurs it back because he does. He does love her, even though she has no idea about _anything._

He doesn’t bother locking the door when he goes into his room. It’s not like Obie and Howard don’t have keys to it anyway. His brain works on autopilot as he changes, getting ready for bed. 

He’s asking for one of Steve’s hoodies next time he’s away with his parents. 

There are bruises on his arm now, he ignores them. He can wear long sleeves tomorrow, it’s fine. 

He doesn’t sleep that night. 

-

The first thing he does when he leaves the next day is go to Steve’s apartment. Obadiah has left a note on his floor about how he can leave when he wants, and he’s one hundred percent sure it’s some sort of test, it always is, but he doesn’t care right now 

He just needs Steve. 

He doesn’t call first, because his goddamn phone is still in his jacket in his apartment. 

He just goes. 

When he knocks on the door, his only thought is _please. _

_Please be in. _

_Please_

Steve opens the door, looking slightly confused, but he barely has time to open his mouth before Tony is hugging the air out of him. 

“Woah, hey.”

Tony doesn’t speak, just burying his face against his shoulder and blinking hard. His arm twinges with pain, he ignores it. 

Steve’s arms come up to wrap around him, pulling him even closer, and _god _he’s missed this. It feels safe. 

They stay like that for a while, Tony isn’t sure how long, but when he eventually pulls away, his eyes are dry. 

“Hey,” Steve says softly, kissing him. “Hi.”

“I missed you.”

He’s not going to lie, not going to hide that he’s missed him a lot. Too much. 

“I gathered, and I missed you too.” He says with a laugh, and Tony reaches up and gently kisses him again. 

“Sorry for just… turning up.”

“You know I don’t care about that. How was dinner?”

Tony shrugs, playing with a strand of Steve’s hair, and shifting his gaze away. His forearm is covered in bruises today, but the long sleeves cover it completely. 

“It was fine. Boring.”

He feels Steve’s fingers on his chin, gently forcing Tony to look at him. 

“You sure?”

He can’t tell him. Not now. 

“Yeah, honestly it was just tiring. I’m glad to be back.”

Steve smiles, lacing their hands together, and Tony leans into his warmth. It scares him, how different he is with Steve. It scares him how much he cares. 

It’s a different sort of fear though. 

He doesn’t want to run from it. 

-

Two weeks later, Steve asks him to come and see an exhibition that some of his art is in. Tony doesn’t hesitate before saying yes, calling Pepper and asking her to cancel whatever meetings he has on his calendar. 

The company can shove it, just for today.

They’ve been spending most days together, even if it’s just for a few hours. Tony continues to go to the cafe for his coffee, and he’s heard nothing more from Obadiah about it. Dinner, movies, just spending time together. They haven’t had sex, and it’s a mix of Steve wanting to wait, and him wanting to wait, and the fact that Tony has only just gotten organised and hired someone yesterday to sweep his entire apartment for hidden cameras. 

They found three. They’ve all been removed, and Tony’s changed the locks. 

They’ve gotten… closer. So much closer. If Tony was honest with himself, which he never is, not with this, he’s pretty sure that he would opt to spend every second of the day with Steve. 

Which is bad, bad in so many ways. 

And somehow, no matter how hard Tony tries to shove down that feeling, it keeps creeping it’s way back in. 

He knows he's been neglecting to do everything Howard and Obie expect from him, but he doesn't have the energy to care about them right now.

Steve assures him that the place where the art is being shown will be nearly empty by the time they get there. Tony doesn’t worry about it, because he trusts him. 

When he meets Steve outside of the tiny art gallery, Tony smiles, but doesn’t kiss him. Too many eyes, too many people. Steve doesn’t seem to care though, only gives him a grin in response that is so open, so honest. Tony feels light when he leads him inside. 

The art is incredible. Steve patiently explains who everyone showcasing it is, and tells Tony that it’s all run by a local charity that encourages young artists who want to get their work seen. Tony makes a mental note to donate a hell of a lot of money to the charity when he gets home. 

They look at such a huge range of work, and Tony, someone who prides himself on not being easily surprised, is ridiculously impressed by the amount of talent. 

It’s when they get to Steve’s works, right at the end, that his words catch in his throat. 

It’s beautiful. All of it. 

When Steve had told him that he was displaying art… he hadn’t expected this. 

There’s a large sketchbook on a stand in the middle, and as Tony gently turns the pages, he sees Steve’s life, his love, displayed on every single one. 

There are sketches of New York, paintings of his friends, photos of what Tony guesses are his favourite places. Eyes, cuffs of sleeves, hands holding coffee, a flash of red hair. He can feel the effort in everything that Steve does, everything he creates.

And then as he turns over to the last page, everything else falls away. 

It’s Tony, or at least… a version of him. 

He can only see half his face in the drawing, and his eyes are wide, dark. Then as his eyes move over the page, he takes in the rest of the drawing.

He’s encased in what looks like a metal suit. It’s beautiful; a work of art in itself, and it immediately makes a little part of Tony want to build one. Armour, he realises. It’s armour. It’s in black and white, but his face is in colour. His eyes look… they look happy. He looks happy, even though he’s not smiling. 

His hands are shaking as he runs them over the drawing, looking at what’s written at the bottom in Steve’s slanting writing. 

_Iron man, and the person behind the armour. _

He doesn’t speak, he’s not sure if he can. 

He feels Steve come up to stand next to him, and he sounds so goddamn nervous. 

“I didn’t- I don’t know if it’s too much too soon, but I just kept thinking about how you have… you have two sides. And no one really _sees _the second side. And I know you can’t share everything with me, but I just…”

His voice trails away as Tony turns to look at him finally, 

“This is-” he sucks in a breath, closing his eyes for a second. “God Steve.”

“Is it- I’m sorry, I don’t want to-”

“No,” says Tony quietly. “It’s beautiful. It’s- its fucking beautiful Steve.”

And then he kisses him, because he doesn’t fucking _care _about the rest of the world right now. 

When they pull away, Steve is smiling, and blushing, and _smiling. _

“I just wanted to- I know you don’t like opening up, not to anyone. But I’m here, no matter what, okay?”

He’s not going to cry, he’s _not. _

_The person behind the armour. _

Steve sees him, he can see him and he’s not turning and running. And even though he doesn’t know everything, he's not pushing and he’s not forcing him into anything he’s not comfortable with and _god _Tony loves him so much-

Oh_. _

_Oh_. 

“Okay,” he whispers, kissing him. “Thank you, thank you so much I-”

The words won’t come, he can’t say it. 

It doesn’t matter, not now.

They have time. 

So instead, he stops trying to explain exactly how he’s feeling, and just kisses him until everything else falls away. 

-

They go back to Tony's apartment afterwards. 

He takes a bottle of sparkling wine out of the fridge, pouring them both a glass. 

When Steve smiles at him, he wants to freeze time, just for a few hours. 

When they’re done with the wine, Tony stands and kisses him, and it’s slow and sweet. Steve tastes like mint. It’s warm in the apartment, and the lights are soft. It’s quiet, but not silent. It’s never silent in this city. 

He pushes gently, backing Steve up against the counter, and the kiss deepens, Tony’s hands tangling in his hair. 

Steve pulls away, taking his hand and tugging him into the bedroom, and Tony doesn’t hesitate before following. 

Steve laughs against his lips as they trip, tumbling onto the bed. He can feel Steve’s hands on his skin, and there’s nothing too loud or too quiet in his head.

Their shirts go first, and there’s a second where Tony is grateful for the dim lighting because then Steve won’t see his arm. He shoves those thoughts out of the way. Another time. 

Steve is kissing him, kissing him like it’s the first time, kissing him like it’s the last. 

When Tony’s hands move down to his waist, fingers trailing across his chest, Steve stills for a second. 

“I’ve never done this before,” he murmurs against Tony’s neck, and he nods, pressing his lips against Steve’s gently. 

“Baby,” he says quietly, “are you sure you want to?” His voice is barely more than a whisper, and Steve laughs softly. 

“Yes.” There’s a beat, and then he feels fingers brushing stray curls away from his face. “Do you?” 

Gentle, his touch has always been so gentle.

He doesn’t remember the last time someone actually asked that question, actually put it into words and asked it and wanted to know the answer. 

“Yes.”

He’s never meant anything more in his life.

Steve is perfect, in every way possible, and they laugh and kiss their way through it. _God,_ Tony can’t stop smiling and at some point he thinks he might be crying, but Steve brushes away the tears with soft hands and _kisses _him_, _and he feels lighter than air. 

He loves him, has loved him for a while now. 

This is what he wants, and just for today, nothing else in the world matters.

Later, Steve falls asleep in his bed, and Tony is pressed up against his side, head resting on his chest. It’s so warm. 

He can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong. 

Safe. This is what safe feels like. Maybe this is what _home _feels like. 

Tony sleeps more easily than he has in months. 

-

Tony wakes up first the next morning, slipping out of bed and grabbing a clean t-shirt, Steve’s hoodie, and pants. Then he goes to make coffee. 

He hears him before he sees him, the quiet sound of bare feet on tiles before arms wrap around his waist. Steve kisses his neck and Tony closes his eyes, leaning back against him. 

“Is that my jumper?”

His voice is low, still husky with sleep, and Tony turns around to smile, reaching up to press a kiss to his lips. 

“Maybe.”

Steve laughs, taking the coffee that Tony hands to him. He really could listen to it forever. 

“Looks good on you. I like seeing you in my clothes.”

Tony’s blushing like he’s fucking fifteen years old again, but couldn’t care less. 

“So that’s a yes for me keeping it?” 

“It’s my favourite jumper.”

Tony gives him an innocent smile, running a hand up Steve’s arm, dragging a finger over his chest. 

“Ti prego, Tesoro.” [6] He murmurs, and he sees Steve swallow. Hard. 

“You can keep the jumper.”

Tony smirks, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“The Italian is a turn on. Good to know.”

Steve shoves him lightly on the shoulder, and then Tony is laughing, and Steve is shaking his head with a smile on his face that he honestly would pay money to see every day. 

“Tony?” Steve’s voice is serious, and for a second his heart jumps in his chest. 

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for not being weird about… any of that.”

“Any of what,” he says quietly. He remembers the look on Steve’s face last night, the smiles, the gentle hands, gentle lips, and everything else. 

“Just, I know I wasn’t very good at-”

Tony kisses him, effectively cutting him off. 

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. You were literally perfect. In every way. So don’t think anything else.”

Steve is blushing again, and Tony brushes a thumb over his cheek. His eyes are so fucking bright and _happy. _

_I love you. _

And yet again, the words won’t come. 

“I should get going.” Steve says with a smile. “I’ll be late for work.”

“Yeah of course.” Tony kisses him again, and he’ll never get sick of this, kissing Steve Rogers. “See you later baby.”

“I’ll call you.” Steve says, blushing again at the nickname as he grabs his boots and coat, pulling them on and making his way to the door. Tony laughs, as he watches him go, and there's something warm glowing in his chest.

He stays sitting for a bit, finishing his coffee and fucking _smiling _because he’s still wearing Steve’s hoodie and he feels so damn safe right now. 

The doorbell rings and Tony rolls his eyes, padding over to open it. 

“What did you forget this time-”

It’s his father. 

“I-” The feeling of safety has vanished in seconds. Howard is here alone, god knows why, but also, Tony has a pretty good idea. “What are you doing here?”

Howard’s face is so unreadable, always has been. 

“You haven’t been answering my calls, I needed you in a meeting this morning.”

His phone is in his room, in his coat pocket. It’s on silent because Steve had been here and Steve had been in his bed so he hadn’t been _thinking. _

“Obie didn't-”

“Don’t interrupt me.” His father says, and his voice is silky smooth. “I didn’t ask for an explanation.”

_Breathe. _

No matter what he says, he knows how this shitshow ends. 

“I’m sorry, I was busy. I didn’t see the calls.”

He sees Howard’s gaze wander around the apartment, and realises too late that the two empty mugs of coffee are still on the table. 

“With who?”

_Breathe, breathe. _

“A friend.”

“Your little college boy?” Howard’s lip curls. “The one who serves coffee?”

Tony isn’t fucking _breathing, _and he swallows down bile and god his heart is beating so fucking fast. He doesn’t answer. 

He doesn’t know how Howard knows, because it could have been anything. It could have been Obie, someone at the art gallery, someone from the press, anyone who’s been near him in the last month. It doesn’t fucking _matter _anymore because Tony wasn’t more goddamn careful. He would leave now, except Howard is blocking the door, and there's no goddamn point in running from this.

His father takes a step towards him, and he’s going to be sick, he’s going to throw up or his heart is going to burst out of his chest-

Howard’s voice drops into something terrifyingly soft, and Tony realises in a shock of clarity, that it was never going to end any other way. 

“You’ve been crawling into bed with a _boy._”

_How does he know how does he know howdoesheknow._

Panic. This is the panic that he’s been avoiding for weeks now, slamming into him in waves. His voice sounds young, _scared_. 

“No, shit _no_, I _swear_ I’ve never even touched-”

Tony knows how he moves, knows what it looks like before he hits, knows how his father thinks. But when Howard’s fist connects with his face, he doesn’t dodge, doesn’t move because what the _hell _would be the point. 

He thinks something cracks, but he’s not sure. Red-hot pain lances through him, but he grits his teeth, turning to face his father again, and lifting his chin because that’s all he has the will left to do, all he _can_ do.

The next hit drives straight into his stomach, and it knocks the wind out of him. 

He doesn’t remember falling, but he’s on the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest, trying desperately to catch his breath. Steve’s hoodie, Steve’s smile, Steve- 

Howard looks down at him, and there’s nothing but contempt in his gaze. He spits on the carpet, and Tony closes his eyes. He just wants _Steve. _

The door slams on his way out, and then Tony is alone. 

He can’t move, can’t breathe. His ribs hurt, his face hurts. He doesn’t know if he’s bleeding, doesn’t know if something is broken, doesn’t know-

Steve. He just fucking-

If he calls him, he’ll come. 

He can’t. He can’t see him like this, can’t explain what and who and _why. _

He’s not sure if he’s crying or not, but everything feels so fucking numb and the panic is gone but somehow this is so much worse. 

Somehow, he manages to get to his room, collapsing onto the bed. The jumper smells like Steve and he’s blinking tears away and _god _everything hurts, and he was so fucking stupid to think that he could be selfish with Steve, that he could have one thing to himself. 

His phone rings. He doesn’t know which one it is, doesn’t have the energy. 

_Please, please be Steve please-_

“This is Tony Stark.”

It’s his mother, of fucking _course_ it is, and he listens to her talk at him in Italian for a minute before cutting her off. She’s talking about Christmas, about him coming to Malibu for the week and that is enough to make him swallow down bile. 

“Mom,” he says quietly, and he knows his voice is trembling. “Ora non è il momento migliore.” [7]

“Va tutto bene?” [8] Her voice sounds slightly concerned, and Tony’s throat tightens. 

“Si, mamma, sto bene, non importa.” [9]

He’s not making sense, he’s not even sure his thoughts are making sense anymore, because nothing makes sense and he’s so fucking _tired. _

“Okay,” Maria says softly, and for the first time, he doesn’t think she believes him. 

He wishes she was here, the stupid urge of a _child _who wants to be comforted by his mother. He doesn't have that though, hasn't for years. 

He hangs up. 

It _hurts, _and he wants Steve more than he wants to _breathe. _

Silence. 

His head is loud, and everywhere else is quiet. Too quiet. 

It’s a restless sleep, filled with dead eyes, and shark smiles and a distinct lack of warmth. 

He wakes up in the middle of the night gasping for breath, and barely manages to make it to the bathroom before he’s throwing up everything in his stomach.

He looks in the mirror once and is retching again, body aching, head pounding. 

There’s a bruise blooming across his face, a mess of purple and blue, but it’s not too swollen, which _probably _means nothing is broken, but he can’t be sure.

Rhodey would tell him to go to the hospital, but that would mean more questions, more lies, more effort. His ribs are still aching. They’re not broken, he knows what that feels like, because sometimes Howard hits harder than he just had. Once, his father joked that he's become less breakable over time.

He doesn’t have the energy to move, not now. Tomorrow he’ll fix it; he’ll call Obie, call his father, lie through his teeth and swear he’s never even touched a guy. 

But that’s not what he wants either. 

No what he _wants _is to grab Steve and run and not stop running until there’s nothing else to hide from. What he _wants _is for Steve to be here, to kiss him and tell him that it’s going to be okay. 

He can’t though, because he doesn’t know, and Tony can’t tell him. 

It’s freezing again, but he knows he put the heating on yesterday. 

He just wants Steve. 

The quiet doesn’t leave.

The sun rises. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italian translations:  
[1] Are you okay?  
[2] You’re quiet tonight.  
[3] I’m fine, just tired.  
[4] Goodnight mom  
[5] I love you  
[6] Please sweetheart  
[7] Now isn’t the best time  
[8] Are you okay?  
[9] Yes, I’m fine, it’s not important.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for non consensual drug use and attempted rape, it's not graphic but i'm putting the warning in anyway. Be careful xxx  
The POV's also switch a couple of times throughout this but I think it's pretty clear so :)

When Steve pushes open the cafe door, he’s twenty minutes late for work, and he’s met with Nat, Sam and Clint leaning against the counter. They all have crossed arms, are all clearly trying not to laugh. 

“You’re late,” says Clint in a singsong voice, raising his eyebrows. They’re holding coffees, and Steve is torn between amusement and exasperation. “What do you have to say for yourself, hm?”

Steve just gives his friend a look that he thinks really gets across how unimpressed he is, despite the fact that he’s laughing. Nat (unsurprisingly) breaks first.

“He got some.”

Instantly, Steve is blushing, because he _knew _it had been a bad idea to tell Natasha that he was taking Tony to see his art. She had called Sam, who had called Clint, and they’d all been blowing up his phone with texts asking how it had gone. 

Apparently a lack of quick answers had confirmed their suspicions. Of course. 

“He totally did.” Says Sam with a grin as Natasha pushes herself up until she’s sitting on the counter top

“What?” He says, biting back a smile and playing dumb. 

Sam points a finger at him; smirk breaking through the serious facade. 

“You had sex. With Tony Stark.”

Sam saying it is making him think about it, which is making him blush even more and really this just isn’t what he expected to be dealing with this morning, especially as all he can think about is Tony's hands-

“Fine.” He says loudly, because he really needs to stop thinking about this right now. “_Yes_, I had sex. With Tony. I had sex with Tony Stark.”

Natasha is trying desperately to hold back a smirk. 

“God Steve, there’s no need to be so _loud _about it.”

He lets out a laugh, shaking his head and hitting her gently on the shoulder as Clint grins, throwing his apron at him. He manages to catch it before it hits him in the face, and he’s grateful for that because he really doesn’t need to go any _more _red right now. 

"It was all because of the amazing relationship advice I gave you, wasn’t it?”

He raises his eyebrows, taking the apron and biting back a laugh. 

“Sure. And… do you work here now or something?”

Clint gives him a wicked smile, shaking his head. 

“Nope, believe it or not, I’m way too behind on work to get a job. I only came here to make fun of you. I’ll be going, now that we’ve done that.”

Natasha laughs, waving at Clint as he leaves, and he blows her a kiss as he saunters out of the door, the shit eating grin never dropping from his face.

Steve turns back to the other two, crossing his arms. 

“You waited and decided to open the entire cafe late, just so that you could be the only ones in here to tease me about my sex life.”

Sam opens his mouth to protest, but Nat just nods, giving him a look that's all wide-eyed innocence.

“Yep,” she says, popping the P and smirking in a way that makes Steve feel more than a little afraid of her, and very glad she’s his friend. “That sounds about right.”

“I hate you both.” He says, but he’s smiling as he speaks, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you’re opening late just to make fun of me.”

Sam laughs, going into the break room to sort out what they need for opening time. 

“Was it good?”

That’s Natasha; because of course she’s not ready to drop it. 

“Was what good?” Steve asks, even though he knows _exactly _what she’s referring to. 

“Sex with Tony Stark.”

He wonders if his eyes can break from rolling them too hard. 

“You know I didn’t want to date him just for the sex.”

“Yeah, you said. But also, it’s not every day that your best friend gets into bed with a billionaire.”

“Fine,” he says with a laugh. “It was incredible. Happy?”

“Details.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Not even-”

“_No.”_

She rolls her eyes, hopping off the counter and winking at him. 

“If you ever want to share some details-”

She breaks off mid sentence, eyes widening slightly, and Steve turns around as Tony pushes open the door.

His first reaction is to smile, then to blush because he _still _can’t stop thinking about it. 

Next, it’s shock. 

Tony’s wearing jeans, Steve’s jumper, and sunglasses, but as he pulls the glasses off, they get a full view of the bruise spreading across his cheekbone, a mess of colours. 

Steve opens his mouth, but Natasha gets there first, and he loves her, but she’s never been particularly tactful. 

“What the hell happened to _you?”_

Tony turned to her, and his gaze is flat, almost emotionless. 

“That’s really none of your fucking business is it?”

Nat just raises her eyebrows, but Steve doesn’t miss the hurt flickering in her eyes. He moved between them, turning to face Tony. 

“Hey, she’s just curious. Don’t be pissed with her if you need to be mad.”

Steve takes a step towards him, and Tony turns those dark eyes on him.

(He loves Tony’s eyes, loves them so goddamn much.)

It’s not as bad as when he walked in here with Obadiah all those weeks ago, but it’s not good either. He glances over his shoulder, shooting a look at Nat, and she takes the hint, saying something about checking products in the storage section as she leaves. 

“What Steve?” Tony sounds tired, resigned, like he knows this conversation is coming, like he knows what Steve is about to say. 

Now that he’s closer Steve can see the damage on his face in a lot more detail, and wishes- he doesn’t know what he wishes. That it hasn’t happened? Of course. That he had been there to stop it maybe, even though he still doesn’t know _what _caused it.

He just wants to take whatever pain is lingering in his eyes away, but he’s not really sure how to. Tony’s never been the most open, and he respects that he has his secrets, but sometimes… sometimes he wishes he could just read his mind. 

“Who did this to you?”

He’s trying to control his voice, he really is, but someone has _hurt _Tony, and it shakes on the last word. 

Tony raises his eyebrows, and something dark and almost empty flickers in his gaze before it vanishes, and a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Something tense in Steve uncoils at the sight.

“Me, if you want to be dramatic about it. Or dum-e, if you want to blame a robot for the entire thing.”

It’s his voice that gives him away, 

It’s too bright, and now Steve has spent enough time around Tony to have a pretty good idea of when he’s bullshitting him. He still can’t tell his smiles apart sometimes, but then again, it’s something he suspects Tony’s been perfecting for half his life. 

Steve just stares at him, taking another step forwards. Tony goes still as he moves, eyes wide as Steve reaches out to touch the bruise, gently running his fingers over the damaged skin. 

Tony lets out a hiss, flinching slightly at the contact and Steve lets his hand drop. 

“Tell me the truth.”

His voice is steady. He doesn’t argue with Tony often, even though the billionaire has so many secrets, and Steve let’s him deal with shit alone even though sometimes the look in his eyes after work makes him want to kill someone. But this-

“Excuse me?”

“Who did this to you?” Steve says again, meeting Tony’s gaze head on. He sees a thousand emotions go through his eyes in a split second, before they settle back down into something near emotionless. 

Tony's voice has dropped into something colder, nastier, but Steve still doesn’t regret pushing, refuses to regret pushing him on this. 

“If you don’t believe me Steve, that’s really not my problem.”

This- he’s so frustrated he could break something. He’d been so damn happy because of everything, because of Tony, and now only because he refuses to open up-

“I’m only saying this because I’m trying to help,” he says quietly, and Tony looks up at the words. He sees surprise flare in his eyes for a second, and wonders why Tony, after almost two months, is still surprised when people show they care.

When Tony speaks again, his voice is softer, less defensive, and he reaches for Steve’s hand. Steve feels a tiny tremble run through Tony’s fingers as he takes his hand, but it vanishes almost instantly. He’s trying not to push, he is, but it scares him when Tony closes off like this. 

“I told you, it was dum-e. Promise.”

Steve reaches up, gently smoothing a thumb across the uninjured cheekbone. 

“You can talk to me, you know that right?”

He knows that he sounds desperate, but he doesn’t care. Because Tony… he needs to hear it. Again and again and again until it sticks. 

Tony leans into his touch, and Steve feels him relax, the emptiness in his eyes fading into something more like the person he knows.

“Yeah,” Tony says, and then moves to hug him, burying his face in his shirt. Steve hugs back, being careful of the bruising. He thinks he hears Tony breathe in sharply as he shifts, but then again, maybe he’s being paranoid. 

“Tony?” He says quietly after a while, fingers playing with a strand of his hair. 

Tony mumbles something against his shirt that sounds a lot like _shut up and hug me,_ and Steve smiles, worries fading. 

He’s fine, they’re fine. 

“Maybe just be a little more careful with your lab work genius?”

Tony pulls away, looking up at him with raised eyebrows. 

“Are you calling me irresponsible sweetheart?”

Steve shrugs, dipping his head to kiss him gently. 

“Maybe.”

Tony huffs, kissing him again. “_Maybe?”_

Steve grins. “Maybe. Just a tiny bit.”

He rolls his eyes, lacing their hands together.

“While I’m really enjoying this, it’s not exactly why I came here.”

Steve raises his eyebrows, letting him go and grabbing two mugs, making some coffee. They have ten minutes until it opens.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Tony twists his fingers together, expression sobering. “I’m- I won’t be able to make that date we had planned for tonight. My father-” Tony swallows hard, _something _flashing across his face at the words. “My father wants me at a party. It’s… it’s a company thing. I’m expected to make appearances.”

Steve doesn’t care about the date getting cancelled, well he _cares _(of course he does) but it’s more important that Tony isn’t in trouble over it and- Steve searches his eyes, searches his expression, and sees the unspoken words written on every line of his face. 

“You don’t want to go, do you?” 

It’s not a question, not really. 

Tony smiles humourlessly, and it’s at times like this that Steve sees the businessman in him, the soon to be CEO, rather than the 18 year old boy that he really is. 

“Of course I don't. It’s not going to be fun. There are certainly some people there I’d rather avoid. But I have to.”

“Okay,” Steve says, and then a little more firmly. “Okay. Just be careful.”

Tony laughs, and it’s light, happier than everything else he’s done since walking in. Something in Steve relaxes at the sound, and he lets his fingers trace over Tony’s shoulders, his collarbones. He wants nothing more than to stay with him here for the rest of the day. 

“When am I not?” That's Tony’s voice, snapping him out of his own thoughts.

Steve just gives him a look, and Tony rolls his eyes. 

“Point made. Listen baby, I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow maybe?”

“Sure,” Steve says, but he can’t shake a knot of nerves in his stomach. “Want me to bring a hangover cure or something?”

Tony winces slightly. “Might be a good idea.”

He doesn’t look like he’s laughing anymore, and Steve wonders _why _he drinks so much at these parties if he’s not even interested in the alcohol. 

He only leans in though, kissing him.

“Call if-”

“I need anything.” Tony finishes with a shake of his head and a smile that’s more normal. “Yeah. Rhodey will be there for a bit, so it’s fine.”

“Right.”

“See you tomorrow,” Tony says again, and Steve manages a smile, despite the sinking feeling that he’s still missing something. He hands Tony the take out cup of coffee with a half smile. 

“See you.”

Once Tony is gone, it takes Natasha all of three seconds to be back in the room. 

“No offence Steve, but your boyfriend is an asshole.” 

Steve rolls his eyes, going to change the sign on the door to open.

“He’s not an asshole, he’s just got a lot to deal with.”

“Not an excuse to be an asshole.”

“Hey, give him a chance.” Steve smiles at the first customer who comes in, turning back to Natasha. “Just… can we try this again. Maybe all go for drinks together or something.”

He doesn’t wait to hear her answer, turning to the woman who’s now waiting for someone, and trying to reassure himself that Tony will be fine. 

-

If Rhodey hadn’t been with him, Tony is pretty sure he would have lost his mind three hours ago. 

Even so, he’s struggling slightly. 

The party is in one of the hotels his father likes to stay in. They’re downstairs in the bar, and the whole area has been reserved for this evening. He’s been booked into one of the rooms on the same floor, but all he wants to do is _leave. _

When he’d arrived, Obie had pounced on him immediately, pressing a glass of whiskey into his hand with a hissed whisper of _you better fucking sell this story. _

So obviously, Howard had told him. And now, even though it’s his father's fists that are bruised today, it’s somehow Tony’s fault. 

Obie is nothing if not on brand. 

Tony had then proceeded to smile, drink, and laugh his way through the first half of the evening. When the first person, one of his ex girlfriends actually, asks him shyly what happened to his face, he smirks, and explains what ‘happened’ with dum-e. 

Everyone laughs, smiles a little, tells him with no real feeling that he should _be more careful _with his experiments. He keeps smiling, even though he feels sick. Throughout it all, Obie remains at his side, hand resting on his arm. As if he would risk saying anything here. He hasn’t for the past ten years, there’s no reason to start now. 

He has another drink, smirks at a couple of girls, avoids his father. 

His ribs are still aching, and they’re not broken, but they hurt like a bitch, and they're definitely bruised. 

Rhodey arrives a little late, but he’s beyond grateful for his friend, beyond relieved that he’s here. Obadiah shoots him a look that makes his stomach turn as Rhodey shows up, but there’s nothing he can do, or say, in front of all these people. Rhodey ignores the look, gently taking Tony’s arm and guiding him to sit on one of the bar stools, away from everyone. 

“Your face-”

“I know,” Tony says, because he doesn’t have the energy for this. He won’t lie to Rhodey, can’t bring himself to after spending the morning lying to Steve. “I didn’t want to steal Pepper’s concealer again, even though she doesn’t ask any questions. 

“Anywhere else?” Rhodey asks, because he knows him too well, and he knows what Howard is like. 

“Ribs,” Tony says quietly. 

“Broken?”

“Nope.”

His friend sighs heavily, tapping the bar, and the bartender refills both of their drinks. Just as Tony is about to take a sip, a new voice sounds behind them. 

“Colonel Rhodes, it’s a pleasure.”

Every part of Tony turns to ice. 

_No no no-_

He turns around (even though he already knows who it is, because his voice still gives him nightmares) and Tiberius Stone smiles. 

“Tony! Long time no see sweetheart!”

He hasn’t changed a bit. The last time Tony saw him was three years ago, and he had sworn he would never go _near _him again. 

Evidently, the universe hates him.

Rhodey has gone so very tense, and Tony’s hand closes around his arm, forcing him to stay sitting. He doesn’t need Rhodey fighting his battles, he never has. 

“Who the fuck invited you?” Rhodey all but snarls, and Tony is certain that Ty would have a broken nose if he wasn’t holding Rhodey back. Maybe he could let his friend fight that particular one, if they ever get the opportunity.

Ty smiles again, and Tony swallows down bile. Not here, not now, even though he can feel the panic crawling up his throat, clawing at his skin.

_Run run run run-_

“Your ‘uncle’ actually. Well he invited my father, and I was asked along too.”

That fucking _bastard. _Because Obie knows, he fucking knows who Ty is and what he has done and god Tony can’t _breathe. _

Rhodey touches his arm gently and he releases a slow breath, fighting for control. 

_Just sell it. Sell it for tonight. _

“I won’t say it’s nice to see you again, it’s not.”

He doesn’t have to pretend to be nice though. As long as no one dies. At this point, Tony isn’t sure if it’s going to be him (his heart is pounding too fast) or Ty (because Rhodey is still looking at him with murder in his eyes.)

Ty laughs, and the sound makes Tony’s skin crawl. 

“Is that a way to speak to a friend Tony? Can I at least buy you a drink?”

“No.” Rhodey says steadily. “You can’t. The only reason you can still use all of your limbs is because we’re in public. Go and find someone else to harass.”

Ty holds Rhodey’s gaze for a long few seconds, and then laughs, standing up and taking his drink and smirking at Tony. 

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you later sweetheart. Have an _excellent_ evening.”

Neither of them answer, and Ty walks away. 

“I’ll kill him,” Rhodey says quietly. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

Tony runs a hand through his hair, glancing around the room. Ty is talking to his father now, and Obadiah is watching Tony with an expression that can only be described as one of triumph. 

“Don’t waste your time,” Tony says under his breath, ordering another drink. He feels shaky, on the verge of a panic attack. He tries for a joke. “Obie will just kill you, and then I’ll be really stuck.”

“Tony, I’m serious. He-”

“I’m well aware of what he did, I was there.” He snaps, and instantly regrets it because Rhodey has been _nothing _but supportive, and hasn’t left his side even once. The expression on Rhodey’s face makes him look away. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. “He puts me on edge.”

“Yeah no shit.” His friend sighs, glancing at Ty before looking back to Tony. “I’m just worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

It’s only because of the noise in the room that Tony is able to shake his head. No one is looking, no one is listening. 

“No. Not really, but I just need to-”

“Tony!”

_God_, not now. 

He releases a breath, turning to face Obie. 

“What do you want?”

“I would watch your tone, especially as your friend is here on special invite.”

“I invited him,” Tony says through gritted teeth, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Rhodey’s hand tighten around the glass. 

“Of course,” says Obie with the smile that Tony hates. “But your father is the host, and he’s given me permission to get rid of anyone… making trouble.”

“There’s no _trouble _here,” says Rhodey quietly, and even though Tony knows he would never say anything to Obadiah’s face, the look in his eyes says enough.

“I see. Then you won’t mind if I borrow Tony for a quick word?”

Nothing Obie wants to talk to him about can be good, and he’s learned to trust the sinking feeling in his stomach over the years. 

Trust it, only to ignore it. 

Rhodey looks like he’s about to step in and argue, but Tony gives him a tiny shake of his head. Because he can’t do anything here, and Obie could destroy Rhodey’s entire career in a second, and it would be done without an ounce of hesitation. 

Tony stands smoothly; handing his drink to Rhodey with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“That’s fine. Watch my glass will you?”

His friend just gives him a look, taking the glass out of his hand, but doesn’t argue.

Obie leads him out of the main room and into a quiet hallway. Tony leans against the wall and folds his arms, waiting for him to speak. 

“You’re being selfish.”

Tony blinks, eyebrows shooting up. “What?”

Obie just looks at him, and his eyes are so empty of emotion. Sometimes, Tony wonders if he’s even human. 

(He doesn’t think so, and Pepper agrees. She said as much when they drank too much at a college party once.)

“After everything that happened with your father, you need to sort yourself out.”

“He fucking- how is this my fault?”

The worst thing is that he’s not even surprised by the words. Obie knows how to twist it, just like Howard does. A double act, Tony thinks bitterly. He never really stood a chance. 

“If you’re winding him up, of course he’ll react.” Obie’s tone is patient, condescending, patronising. It’s this that makes Tony raise his voice. 

“He nearly broke my fucking ribs!”

Obadiah just rolls his eyes. 

“You’re eighteen years old, get a grip. You should know how to take a punch by now.”

Because of course it’s his fault. It’s his fault for provoking his father, his fault for pushing, always his fault. 

He grits his teeth, not answering, because arguing with Obie about this will do nothing. 

“Fine. Anything else?”

“Yes actually. Go and play nice with Ty Stone. His father is hours away from agreeing to a business deal, and I need them on side.”

His head is filled with white noise, and he doesn’t even think before he answers. 

“No.”

For a second, there’s nothing but shocked silence. Tony has always been sarcastic with Obie, to a point. But he’s never said no with so little hesitation, not like this. 

“Excuse me?” He says softly, and Tony’s heart jumps into his throat. He won’t do it though, won’t go _near _Ty, not for this. 

“I said no. I’m not going to go and _play nice _with him.”

“You’re acting like a child,” Obie says, voice deadly quiet. “Don’t be a brat about this.”

“He fucking- you _know _what he did to me.”

He’s pushing back against an onslaught of memories. Ty’s mocking smile, Ty’s hands all over him, Ty’s laugh that still plays in his nightmares. 

“You climbed into bed with him three years ago, don’t be dramatic.”

Tony’s voice is low. “I think we have different ideas of what the word consent means.”

Obie shrugs. “It’s not my problem what went on between the two of you. You’re lucky your father still knows nothing about it.”

It’s a threat, plain and simple, but Tony no longer cares. There is nothing that can make him go and smile at Ty, go and be nice to the boy who had ruined him so completely before he had even graduated. 

“The answer is no,” Tony says steadily, even though his heart is still pounding in his chest. “You can tell Howard whatever you want.”

Silence. And then Obie smiles, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“Okay Tony, okay.” 

He breathes out, slipping shaking hands into his pockets, locking the memories up again. Then Obadiah speaks again. 

“Oh I’ve been wondering, how’s your coffee boy doing?”

Tony goes utterly still, forgetting how to breathe for a second.

“What?”

Obie smiles. He’s always had a predators smile. “Your coffee boy. Steve Rogers, right? Goes to the NYU institute of art?”

He’s not breathing. He’s not fucking breathing. When Tony speaks again, his voice is something he doesn’t recognise. It’s low, dangerous. 

“You leave him the _fuck_ out of this.”

Obie just laughs quietly, and Tony’s given himself away by reacting like that. He’s fucking given it all away and he should have pretended not to give a shit but it’s _Steve. _

“He’s already a part of this Tony, that’s no longer negotiable.”

“_No,” _he says, and that’s ice cold anger. “You don’t get to fucking _touch_ him.”

He remembers a conversation he’d had with Pepper a few weeks ago. She’d told him to be careful, told him that it was dangerous to only have one thing that can make him fall in line. 

He had laughed, told her to not be dramatic, because he was careful, and anyway, it’s just one boy. 

He’s not laughing anymore. 

“It’s too easy with you Tony. You play your cards too soon.” 

He can feel his heart thundering in his chest, and dimly recognises this as panic, as a goddamn _helpless_ fear that he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

“He's not involved in this Obie, you know it.”

Obadiah takes another step towards him and he doesn’t move. His heart is beating so fast, it’s a wonder no one else can hear it. 

“As soon as he got into bed with you, he was involved. This is the price you have to pay for that.”

“Please,” he says, and it slips out because that’s horror that he can feel now. Obie could tear Steve apart, could ruin his life, could organise an ‘accident.’ He’s done it before, Tony knows he won’t hesitate to do it again. He doesn’t make empty threats. 

Obie raises his eyebrows, a smile spreading across his face. 

“What was that?”

Tony swallows hard, hands trembling, and he’s never hated anyone this much, not even his father. Obadiah wants him to beg, because it’s all a fucking power play with him, it’s all about breaking him. Just like every idle touch, every tiny physical contact that he knows Tony hates because he fucking _knows what Ty did. _

“Please.” He says again, and his voice is barely louder than a whisper. This is the only goddamn thing he’ll _ever_ beg Obadiah for, and Obie _knows _it. He won’t for himself, not with anything, not even when it comes to his father. But for Steve? “_Please_, just leave him out of it.”

“You want to keep your boy safe?” Obie says, smiling slowly. It’s not a question, not really. He knows he’s won. “Then go back in there and get rid of Colonel Rhodes. Then do as you’re fucking told, and entertain your guest.”

He knows what will probably happen if he goes back in there, knows exactly what Obadiah means by _entertain_. It’s him or Steve, but he already knows what his answer is.

It’s never been a choice with Steve, not really. 

“Yes sir,” he says quietly, because Obie knows Steve’s name, knows what he means to Tony, and doesn’t make empty threats.

“Good boy,” he says with a smirk, reaching out and straightening Tony’s suit jacket. He flinches back, and Obie laughs a little, giving him a gentle but not gentle push towards the door. “Try not to look so down about it Tony, it’s not the end of the world.”

It _is. _But at least Steve is safe. 

He lifts his chin, not looking at Obie, and walks back into the room. 

He spots Rhodey across the room instantly, still at the bar, and makes a beeline towards him. 

“You need to go.” He says as soon as he’s within earshot, and watches the surprise flicker to life on Rhodey's face. 

“What?” 

“I-” he feels frantic, jumpy. But he can’t have Rhodey here, because he can’t hide from Ty anymore. “I need you to leave.”

“What did he tell you?” Rhodey says quietly, eyes dark. “What the _hell _did he tell you?”

“Just- Rhodey _please. _Please don’t argue with me about this.”

His friend must see something in his gaze, must hear it in his voice, because he nods, giving in. 

“Fine. Just be careful.”

“Always am,” he says with a humourless smile, and Rhodey stands, giving him one more glance before leaving. He sees his friend take his phone out of his pocket and dial a number as he leaves. Tony puts it out of his mind

He really needs another drink. 

The bartender pours him one, and then tops it up on request. He probably drinks it faster than he should, but he doesn’t care right now. 

It takes fifteen minutes for Ty to appear again, which is slower than expected but a lot faster than he would like. He slides into the vacant seat next to him, and he’s just a little too close for comfort. 

(The same country is a little too close for comfort in Tony’s opinion. He doesn’t say that.)

“Got rid of your bodyguard darling?”

Tony’s stomach flips, and he takes another sip of his drink, hands shaking as he puts it down again. 

“He’s not my bodyguard.”

Ty shrugs, leaning a little closer, and Tony instantly shifts backwards. 

“Whatever you say.”

There’s silence, Ty is smiling, panic is clawing at Tony’s skin, and he wants _out._

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Ty says, and Obie’s voice rings through his head. 

_You want to keep your boy safe?_

Steve. Safe. That’s the only acceptable outcome of this, damn the consequences that come with it. 

_Breathe_. 

“You haven’t exactly been forthcoming either.” He forces his voice to relax, to slip into the familiar drawl that he’s used on far too many girls at parties just like this. 

Ty shrugs, eyes glittering with humour. He has a bedroom smile. Tony hates it, hates that he used to like it before he knew the monster behind it. 

“I was beginning to think you were angry with me over something.”

_Something. _As if Ty not understanding the meaning of the word _no_ is just a tiny bit of an inconvenience, rather than the thing that has guest starred in his nightmares for three years. 

Tony doesn’t answer, just taking another sip of his drink. The mix of adrenaline and panic is making his head spin, and everything feels blurry, almost muted. 

Ty leans forwards again, raising his eyebrows. 

“You okay? Want some water?”

How much has he had to drink? Not that much, but his head is still spinning. He blinks, shaking his head slowly. Three glasses. Three glasses shouldn’t hit him this fast.

“Im fine.”

He just needs- _Fuck- _He needs Steve_. _Quiet. Away from Ty and Obie and Howard everyone else. 

_This is the price. _

He can’t leave, because Obie knows about Steve. 

Steve, the one person who he wants to keep away from this goddamn snake pit of a life. 

“You look a little pale sweetheart. Seriously. If you’re going to hurl on my suit I’ll be a little pissed off.”

He’s fine. It’s fine- 

Ty is talking, he’s not sure what’s going on anymore. Everything is loud, blurry, spinning. It’s like he’s drunk too much except he hasn’t. He hasn’t drunk that much, he-

“Let’s get you some air sweetheart. You look like you need to lie down for a bit.”

There’s a hand on his arm, guiding him out of the room and down the hall. The grip is too tight. There's a sound of another door opening and closing. Silence. It’s finally quiet. He doesn’t feel anything, and his _head _is spinning and won’t _stop- _

He can’t really see properly, can’t work out what’s going on, where he is. It hurts but it doesn’t hurt at all anymore, and his brain is saying _relax _but something in his body is _screaming_ at him to run. He feels light, dizzy. The world is still spinning. 

Hands on his waist now, sliding under his shirt. Dizzy. His head hurts. Lips pressing against his, moving down to his neck, and it’s too bright, too much. He thinks he flinches away, he doesn’t know. The hands hold fast, pinning him in place.

Everything’s spinning. It won’t stop spinning. 

The drink, Ty- 

In the end, it only takes him seventeen minutes after taking the first sip to realise something is very, very wrong. 

By that time, it’s too late. 

-

When Steve’s phone rings at 11pm, he answers it embarrassingly fast. 

“Hello?”

“Steve Rogers?”

He frowns, signalling to Nat to pause the music playing from the speakers in her room. He’s at her dorm, helping her with some random essay to pass time. After having classes for the rest of his day following his shift, he needs a break, but Nat helps him out too much, so the least he can do is try to repay her. 

“Yeah, who is this?”

“I’m Rhodey. James Rhodes. Tony’s friend. He gave me your number s couple of weeks ago just to be on the safe side.”

Rhodey, right, the one in the Air Force. 

He’s definitely listening now. 

“Is everything okay? Aren’t you meant to be at a party with him right now?” He doesn’t try to hide the worry in his voice. 

“Yeah, I'm just leaving. Tony said I had to go, and he seemed pretty shaken up. I’ve just had a message from my superior, and need to be on a flight- it doesn’t matter. Point is, I’m worried about Tony.”

Steve slips on his jacket, grabbing shoes. Nat is looking at him with raised eyebrows, mouthing questions that he’s ignoring. 

“What exactly is going on?”

“He’s told you about Ty, right?”

“No.”

Silence. 

“Shit,” mutters Rhodey under his breath. “Okay well Ty is someone I would love to rip in half, and he’s there. I just…I don’t want Tony to get hurt, so would you be able to maybe check up on him? Pick him up or something?”

“Send me the address.”

“It’s about a ten minute drive.”

“I’ll be there. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Any time.” There’s a beat. “Also Steve, try not to run into Obadiah Stane.”

He remembers the man who had walked into the coffee shop, had made Tony look so uncomfortable, had looked at Steve with such empty, emotionless eyes.

“That won’t be a problem. Thanks again. Really, thank you.”

“Any time. Just be careful.”

Rhodey hangs up, and Steve turns to Natasha. 

“Can you-”

His friend already has her shoes on. 

“I’ll drive. Explain on the way.”

-

When they get to the hotel, it’s too easy to get inside. Natasha goes right up to the front desk and smiles at the man there. Steve has always marvelled at her ability to produce a fake smile this realistic. He wonders how she’s so good at it. 

“Excuse me, would you happen to have a spare key to Mr Stark’s room?”

“Reason?” He doesn’t sound suspicious, just bored. 

“I’ve been instructed by Colonel Rhodes to bring him a change of clothes for tomorrow.”

“He’s expected in meetings all day,” Steve adds, trying to look innocent. 

It is without a doubt, the most bullshit thing that’s ever been said, and yet somehow it works. 

He hands Natasha a spare key, maybe because he has nothing better to with his evening. 

Whatever the reason, she glances at the number on it, and then hits the elevator button. 

Floor two, room 191

Steve’s heart is pounding, mind turning over the words again and again. 

_He’s told you about Ty, right?_

_No. _

Ty. Who’s Ty? Someone from Tony’s past, evidently. And if Rhodey dislikes him, he’s guessing Tony does too, and there’s a good reason. 

The elevator dings, they get out. The hallway is empty apart from two people pressed against a wall. 

Steve looks away, pulling a face at Natasha. She smiles slightly. Then his brain processes the image. 

Dark curly hair, expensive suit. The boy named Ty from the past- The one against the wall is Tony. He would know him anywhere. Steve’s first instinct is anger. Tony with someone else, clearly drunk-

But then he looks again, looks again because it’s _Tony _and he doesn’t believe he would-

He sees Tony’s hands pressed against the other boy’s chest. 

Pushing. 

Natasha, as always, reacts the fastest. 

“Hey!”

The boy, Ty, pulls away from where he had been whispering something in Tony's ear, presses a kiss to the hollow of his throat and smiles. Steve sees Tony flinch slightly at the contact, and every rational thought leaves his head. 

“Hey, we were just having some fun away from the party.”

Tony’s eyes flicker open, and Steve swears he feels his heart stop. His eyes are glazed, unfocused, and as Ty shifts slightly, he can see the hands gripping Tony’s waist hard enough to bruise, the untucked shirt.

Alcohol doesn’t make your eyes look like that. 

“Are you sure your _friend,_” Nat nods towards Tony, who still hasn’t spoken, still hasn’t really moved at all, “is okay with that?”

Ty laughs, and Steve’s skin crawls as he reaches out and brushes a strand of hair out of Tony’s face. Tony jerks his head away, eyes fluttering shut again, and Steve’s stomach lurches. 

“Let go of him.”

He’s surprised his voice is steady. 

Ty grins, pulling back slightly.

“Sweetheart don’t get so wound up, it’s just a bit of fun.”

“What the _hell_ did you do to him?” He's never heard his own voice this angry, has never _been _this angry in his life. 

The other boy shrugs, letting go of Tony and giving him a hard shove. Steve barely moves in time to catch him as he stumbles, and this is wrong, this is so wrong, because Tony smells like alcohol but he’s more than drunk right now as he collapses into Steve’s arms. 

“M’sorry,” Tony murmurs into his shirt as he pulls him upright, supporting him with both hands. It’s the first fucking time Tony has ever apologised to him, and it’s for something that is the furthest from his fault as anything can be 

“Baby,” Steve whispers, pulling away to look at him. There are tear tracks on his face, and Steve feels sick. “Not your fault, okay?”

Then Ty’s voice reaches his ears again. 

“I didn’t do anything he wasn’t already _begging_ me for.”

Tony reacts to this, and Steve feels his hands clench a little tighter around the fabric of his shirt, a small sound forcing its way out of his throat. 

“Steve,” Nat says quietly, and Steve blinks away the haze of _I’m going to fucking kill him _to look at her. “Get him out of here, okay?”

“What did you give him?” He asks Ty through gritted teeth, and the other boy grins, a smile full of so many sharp edges.

“I’m sure he can tell you himself, once it’s all out of his system of course.”

Ty takes a single step towards them and Natasha is between them in seconds. 

“One more step,” she says, voice deadly quiet, “and I’m going to snap your arm in half.”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay sweetheart.” A wink to Steve. “You can tell your _boyfriend_ that it’s a shame we couldn’t finish it off this time. I’m patient though. Oh, and my father won’t be taking that business deal after all.”

Steve isn’t sure he’s breathing anymore he’s so angry, and angry isn’t really appropriate anymore because Ty would be dead if Tony wasn’t drugged out of his mind in his arms right now. 

He doesn’t say anything, just tugging Tony gently towards the elevator. As he glances back, he sees Natasha smile, and sees Ty’s face go white. 

Good. 

Somehow, by some miracle, he manages to get Tony out of the hotel and into the car, pulling him into the backseat. 

“Tony?”

He just presses his head further into Steve’s shoulder. Tony is shaking, and it’s not from the cold at all.

“You came.” Is what reaches his ears a moment later, and Tony sounds like a child. The quiet murmur breaks his heart because of course he fucking came and he sounds so goddamn young right now and all he can think about is the absence of anything in Tony’s eyes when they had first seen him in the hall 

“Yeah baby,” he says quietly. “I promised, didn't I? Can you sit up for me?”

Tony, still trembling, doesn’t move. Steve can feel his fingers curled around his shirt, and he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to deal with this, doesn’t know how to _help. _

“My head-”

“I know, I know. Just hold on for a bit, okay?”

Steve keeps his voice soft, gentle, because the last thing he wants to do right now is scare him. 

Two minutes later, Nat slides into the driver's seat. She doesn’t say a word until they’re on the road again, and then she quietly asks for Tony’s address. Steve gives it to her. 

When they get to his apartment, Steve gets out of the car first, and Nat grabs his arm as she follows, dropping her voice to just above a whisper. 

“Steve he-” It’s not often Nat is at a loss for words, but she’s struggling now. “I don’t think it went all the way.”

He releases a breath slowly, some of the raging panic dimming slightly. 

“Thank god.”

“But,” She continues, “I think-” she swallows hard. “I think it has gone that far. Before. From what he was saying…”

“Jesus,” Steve says quietly, closing his eyes for a second. “What did he say?”

“Just what he said to you before. Finish it off _this_ time. But I don't know that for sure.”

God, Tony. And he had no idea, no idea about any of it because Tony is too good at hiding, too good at keeping secrets. 

“I hope you killed him.” His voice is low, and all he can think about is Tony, Tony younger than he is now, Tony being trapped with Ty-

“No. But he’s not going to feel great tomorrow.”

“Good.”

With Nat’s help, they manage to get Tony out of the car, but he’s barely upright for five seconds before he’s throwing up on the side of the street. 

Steve goes with him as his knees give out and he drops. He remembers something a nurse said to him once after Clint had gotten alcohol poisoning and Steve had to take him to hospital at three in the morning.

_It’s a miracle he didn’t take any drugs. Mix some of those with alcohol? Not pretty. _

He rubs soothing circles on Tony’s back as he slips, all of his weight crumpling onto Steve. 

“Dizzy,” Tony says, the words slurring as he shifts again, and Steve catches him with both hands, pulling him upright. 

“Yeah I know baby, let’s just get you inside, okay? Do you know what you took?”

“I didn’t,” he says stubbornly, and Steve swallows the frustration because it’s not Tony’s fault it’s Ty’s, but he has no idea what is in Tony’s system right now.

“Did he give you anything? Pills?”

“Whiskey. Drinks.” The words are barely tangible, but it makes sense because they all have the money, so Ty paying the bartender to spike Tony’s drink can’t have been that difficult.

“Okay, you’re okay now.”

“Had to, Obie said… had to.”

The rest of the sentence trails away, and Steve ignores the dread and confusion that are wrestling for control in him.

“It’s okay.” Steve must have said the words five times over, but he doesn’t care. “You’re safe. Just stay awake, okay?”

Nat finds the spare key that he knows Tony keeps hidden by the side of the door and unlocks it. Steve leads him towards it, and Nat touches his shoulder gently.

“I’m going to go home, explain to Clint what happened.”

“Yeah,” he says, brain not really processing the words. “Just- I’ll forward you Rhodey’s number. Can you call him?” 

“Sure, just get it to me whenever you can.”

“Nat,” he says quietly, aware of the fact that Tony is now slipping in and out of consciousness. “Thank you for coming and helping.”

She glances at Tony, then back at Steve. “Of course. I’m glad I could. Just… make sure he’s okay.”

“You know I will.”

“I’m sorry, for judging him.”

He remembers the conversation they’d had in the cafe earlier today. It feels like a lifetime ago. 

“You didn’t know, no one really did.”

She nods, and her eyes are sad. “Bye Steve.”

“Thanks again.”

Minutes later, she’s gone. 

Steve manages to get Tony into the apartment and then into his room. By this point, he’s barely conscious, eyes too dark, too unfocused. Steve is terrified, more scared than he’s been in a while because he’s heard too many horror stories of things like this and _god, _the look in his eyes-

He gets him into the bed, but doesn’t try to take off any of his clothes because god knows he’s had enough of that in the last few hours. 

Dimly, he realises that despite Ty, despite being drugged, despite everything tonight, Tony hadn’t once refused to let Steve touch him. 

He swallows hard, pulling the sheets over Tony, before grabbing an extra throw and adding that too. Then he goes into the bathroom, running one of Tony’s towels under the warm water and taking it back to him

He’s out like a light now, and his breathing is steady but there’s no way Steve’s going anywhere. He gently cleans his face, brushing a hand through his hair. Then he slides down until he’s sitting on the floor with his back against the bed. 

He forwards Rhodey's number to Nat, because he can’t talk to anyone right now, doesn’t want to wake Tony up but doesn’t want to leave him either. 

He doesn’t move, and when the first rays of sunlight begin to creep through the window, he gets up and makes a pot of coffee. 

When he gets back, Tony is still asleep. He sinks back into his position on the floor, and stays put.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for this chapter I did quite a lot of research into some very scary drugs. The one that Ty gives Tony is called GHB, and most of the effects shown here are quite accurate but I’ve obviously tweaked it a bit to fit with the content I wanted etc. I’m not rEally sure why I’m sharing this but idk if there are any medical experts reading pls don’t come for me for 😂😂 aNyway, stay safe guys, and don’t go to parties without someone you trust


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is... a lot for my heart. I basically spent half an hour going over it again and again because I can't decide if i hate it or love it ANYWAy I hope you guys like it :)

When Tony opens his eyes, the first thing he notices is that his head feels like it’s seconds away from imploding. 

The second thing he notices is that he’s in a bed, and he has no idea how he got there. 

And then suddenly, all at once, it crashes back into him with the force of a tidal wave. The party, Obie threatening Steve, Ty there, Ty giving him a drink. Ty-

“_Fuck_.” Is the only thing out of his mouth before his stomach is turning and he’s lurching out of the bed, moving almost blindly towards the bathroom. He hears someone swear, hears footsteps follow him, but his head is-

He’s in his room in his apartment and he has no idea how he got there and no idea what happened but he knows that Ty was there-

His knees ache as they connect with the floor, waves of nausea rolling through him as he throws up whatever's left in his stomach. It’s from the alcohol, and whatever the _hell _was in his drink. 

“Hey, hey, baby, it’s okay.”

That’s Steve and he has no goddamn clue why Steve is here or _how _Steve is here but he’s rubbing his back gently, whispering reassurances. A minute later, when the nausea lessens slightly, he hears running water and a glass of it is pressed into his hand. 

“Drink some water, it’ll help.”

He doesn’t speak, can't speak right now. He drinks the water slowly, stomach calming down, and tries not to think about the last time he had accepted a drink from someone else. 

“Better?” Steve says softly, not moving from where he’s crouched next to him. Once Tony is sure he can speak, he nods slowly.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

His ribs are aching, his head is aching, and he’s never wanted coffee more in his life. 

“What-” he swallows, taking another sip of water and pushing himself into a sitting position so that he can turn to look at Steve. Everything _hurts. _“What are you doing here?”

Steve sits back, moving his hand away and just meeting his gaze. He doesn’t answer the question.

“How much do you remember?”

Tony shakes his head, pushing away the faint memory of Ty's hands, and focusing on Steve’s face. 

“I- I was at the party. Rhodey left. I was drinking. Then someone- it felt weird. Dizzy...Ty took me out of the room." _Hands sliding under his shirt, lips on his neck. _Tony swallows hard. "Then nothing.”

Steve nods like it’s what he had expected to hear, and Tony’s stomach clenches again. 

“Steve? What are you doing here?”

“Rhodey called me last night.” Steve avoids his gaze slightly, looking at the tiles. “He asked me to pick you up because he was worried after leaving. Me and Nat came to get you, found you in the hall with-”

Ty. The hallway with Ty. His hands are shaking, and he curls them into fists because he’s not a fucking _victim, _and he won’t be fucking weak, not because of this. 

“Did he-” he doesn’t know how to say it, doesn’t want to ask it. Breathe. In and out. In and out. “Did-”

Steve shakes his head, meeting his eyes. “No. Nat doesn’t think so. I don’t think so. You had-” Steve looks like how Tony feels: sick, exhausted. “You still had all your clothes on.”

Thank god. Thank _God. _He closes his eyes, leaning against the wall.

“I made coffee if you want it,” Steve says, trying for a smile as Tony opens his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Yes. Please.”

_Please, just leave him out of this _

Tony shakes away the memory of Obie’s shark smile. Not now. _Not now_. 

Steve pulls him to his feet and he wavers for a second, but then grits his teeth. He feels better than he had last night, but still like he's been run over multiple times. By a train.

“You good?”

“I’m fine.” He says, and it comes out harsher than he intends it to. 

Tony knows Steve doesn’t believe him. He doesn’t believe himself either. 

Steve steps back, letting him get back into his room. Tony hears him go into the kitchen a minute later. He feels like he needs to take a shower. Three showers, and then another. When he pulls his shirt off, there are twin bruises on his hips. There’s a faint memory somewhere, a memory of someone gripping too hard. The rest is logic. 

He looks away, going back to the bathroom. 

(He takes three showers in the end. The last two are to wash away the feeling of hands that aren’t Steve’s.)

Once he’s changed, Tony makes his way into the kitchen. A minute later, Steve hands him a mug of coffee with a hesitant smile. 

“The caffeine should help.”

He makes a noise that just about passes for an answer, taking a drink of coffee and feeling the pounding in his head ease significantly. 

When his heart rate has slowed slightly and he feels a little more human, he takes a deep breath, meeting Steve’s eyes. They’re so blue, so bright. But they’re worried, he can see that much. Not pitying, because he thinks if Steve has looked at him with pity he would have broken. 

_Talk to him. _

“Thank you. For coming when you did.”

He’s twisting his fingers together, wondering how much to say, wondering just how much to talk about because Steve has just saved him from his nightmare-

Steve reaches out, gently taking Tony’s hands in his own, and he looks up, question in his eyes. Steve's expression is hesitant, a little sad. 

“You should’ve called me before it got bad. I would’ve come sooner, you know I would've."

Obie's words ring in his memories.

_You want to keep your boy safe?_

He couldn't call Steve. That had never been an option.

“It was… a difficult situation.”

“Then,” Steve says, brushing a thumb over his knuckles. Everything about him is calm, gentle, “explain it to me.”

“What do you mean?” 

Steve pulls his hand away, and when Tony looks at him again, the calm expression has tightened slightly.

“I- you weren’t okay when we found you Tony." The tone of Steve's voice makes him wonder what exactly Tony had said to him last night. "Ty said… he said he spiked your drink. He said you would know what was in it.”

Did he know? Yes, because it was pretty obvious from how he felt this morning, and Ty wasn’t subtle. 

“Did I say anything to you?”

He hates this, hates that there’s a gap in his memory now. Something flickers in Steve’s eyes, but he’s not sure he wants to know why. Eventually, Steve shakes his head. 

“Not a lot. You kept saying you were dizzy. You were sick as well. Really out of it.”

“GHB.” He says quietly, running a hand through his hair. 

He can hear the frown in Steve’s voice. “What?”

“GHB. The shit that Ty spiked my drink with. That’s what is was. I’ve had it before; it’s the same effects, especially with alcohol. It… I realised what it was too late.”

Steve breathes out slowly, closing his eyes for a second. “Okay. Do you… is it okay now? You don’t feel funny?”

“It’s nearly all gone from my body. So yeah, I would say it’s fine.”

He doesn’t know why his voice is edged with sarcasm, doesn’t know why he’s suddenly getting an instinct to put up his walls and _run. _

Steve’s next question answers that. 

“He… he also said something else.”

“Do tell,” Tony grits out, because the last goddamn thing he wants to do is talk about Ty fucking Stone and his silver tongue with Steve. 

(He wants to keep him out of it, that's all he’s ever wanted to do.)

Steve looks at him, searching his eyes, and for a second the apartment is silent. Tony can feel his heart beating fast, and forces himself to relax. It’s Steve. It’s _Steve. _

“He-” Steve swallows hard. “He said that you hadn’t managed to finish it off...this time.”

Of course he had. Of course Ty hadn’t been able to just ruin him without digging the blade into Steve as well. Steve, who Obie had threatened. Steve, who Tony would go right back to Ty to protect without hesitation. 

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t meet his eyes. 

When Steve’s voice comes back to him, it’s low, and there's an anger in it that he knows isn't directed at him.

“When?”

Tony releases a shaky breath, and there’s not even a point in lying anymore because Ty has told him everything anyway. He keeps his voice flat, emotionless. 

“Three years ago. I went to one of my father’s parties while I was in college. It backfired a little. I drank too much. Ty was there, and he decided to see how far he could go with Howard Stark’s son. By the time my brain kicked in and I realised what was happening, we were in his room, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

Steve looks like he’s about to be sick. “You didn’t report it.” Not a question. Tony just shakes his head, shoving the memories down, locking them away because _that _is the last thing he needs right now.

“No. No one would have believed me.”

“No one else _knows _about this?” 

It's the shock in his voice that makes Tony feel defensive, feel the need to explain himself, even though there's really nothing to explain.

“Rhodey. Rhodey knows.”

He knows because when Tony had woken up alone in Ty’s hotel bed three years ago, he had called Rhodey first. It had been the first time he’d broken down in front of his friend, first time he’d reached out to him for help. Rhodey had come, and Tony had never really forgotten the look on his face when he had seen him. He had been convinced there and then that his friend was going to find Ty and kill him. He hadn’t, but if Ty had been there-

“You didn’t- your parents don’t know?”

Tony does laugh then, and it’s cold, empty. 

“You think Howard Stark would have seen the assault before the gay? All that would matter to him would be that it’s a guy, rather than what he actually did.”

“He’s your father.” Steve’s brows are furrowed, and a part of Tony wants to reach out, to smooth the worry from his face. Another part of him wants to keep laughing because it’s not funny but he feels almost delirious right now. 

“Yeah, he’s my father. Doesn’t mean he’d give a shit. Oh, and Obie knows too.”

“You told him?”

Tony shrugs, faking the ‘_I don’t care’ _attitude that’s gotten him out of too many hard conversations. “No. He finds this shit out. Ty probably told him to be honest.”

“He-” Tony is beginning to think that Steve might break something. “He didn’t do anything?”

Tony shakes his head, closing his eyes for a split second and not giving him the answer that he already knows. “I- _shit. _I can’t do this with you right now."

Steve just stares at him, and it’s the look in his eyes that makes him want to grab him and kiss him, but also run and not stop running, because Obie and Howard goddamn know and now so does Ty. 

Tony stands up suddenly, shoving back his chair. Too loud. He just… he needs to breathe, needing to get out. It’s too much. Obie, Howard, Ty, Steve. It’s mixing in his head, he doesn’t know who he’s angry with anymore. 

“I need some air.”

“Tony wait-”

Steve grabs his arm as he turns away, and Tony guesses it’s to stop him, to just get him to just wait for a second, but all Tony can think about is Howard grabbing his arm less than three days ago, and his head empties of anything other than panic. 

He flinches hard, flinches back like he’s expecting Steve to lash out, to hit him, because it’s an instinct, just an instinct, and with Howard-

For a second, there’s no sound in the apartment. 

Steve has gone utterly still, whole body frozen. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Tony says quickly. Too quickly. “It was nothing.”

But he sees it click, sees it piece together in Steve’s eyes because he’s not stupid, he’s so far from stupid, and Tony’s face is still bruised. He wonders if Steve has known for a while, since even before the bruises and their conversation in the coffee shop, but just didn’t want to believe it. 

“He hits you.” Steve whispers, and Tony forgets how to speak, forgets how to get air into his lungs. “Howard. Doesn’t he?”

He isn’t breathing, forces himself to start again. He doesn't know how Steve figured it out so fast, but maybe he's not as good at hiding as he had originally thought. In, out. In, out. His mother- she doesn’t know, and she never will because he’s just trying to _protect her. _But Steve isn’t Maria, and he’s figured it out. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” is what he finally manages to say. “Stop looking at me like I’m about to fucking break just because he hits me.”

It’s the first time he acknowledged it out loud for years, since the one time Rhodey had refused to take his bullshit excuses as an answer. 

Steve is looking at his face, at the bruise that is still fading. He reaches out to touch it, but then stops, pulling his hand away again.

“He-”

“Steve, just drop it.”

He can’t have this conversation right now, he _can’t_. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Because he was scared. Because he still is scared. So scared. 

“Because I knew you’d look at me exactly how are you are now.”

Steve ignores the vicious, cold anger in his voice, ignores it all. 

“How long has this been going on for?”

There isn’t a point in lying now, and yet the instinct to hide and lock it all up is still there. Tony shoves it away. 

“Eight years. Give or take.”

“Jesus Tony-”

_“Don’t.” _He says sharply, because he can’t deal with Steve’s pity. He _can’t_. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Steve shakes his head. “You’re not. This isn’t- this isn’t _okay _Tony-"

“I need some air.” He says again, ignoring the look on Steve’s face, shoving open the front door and walking out of the apartment. 

The cold air helps him to relax instantly, soothing the building headache. Howard, Obadiah, Ty- when one backs off, another is there to haunt him. He still has vague memories of the previous night, vague memories of everything spinning and Ty's hands just-

He shuts his eyes, shaking his head to clear it. He doesn’t need anything else to make an appearance in his dreams, least of all this. 

He doesn’t move for a while, even when he hears footsteps behind him. 

“That’s why you haven’t told him about Ty. That’s why Obadiah didn’t do anything.”

That’s Steve again, because of fucking course he followed him outside, of course he did because he’s _Steve _and he’s a fucking good person and-

Of course he followed him outside. 

“Well done, do you want a fucking medal?” Tony spits out without turning around. 

“You’re scared of them.” It isn't a question, but Tony still shakes his head.

“No,” he snaps, spinning to face him. It’s a lie. He’s so scared. “But they fucking get off on power, all three of the parasites, and I’m trapped in the middle.” His voice is rising, not quite shouting, but he’s not relaxed either. 

“You were a _kid.” _And Steve is shouting now, taking a step closer. “You were a goddamn kid Tony, and no one did anything, and your dad was- _is_ hitting you and Ty tried to- That’s not just _okay_.”

“That’s my life!” He shouts, and dimly, he realises that at some point the rain has started, because it’s New York in November so of course it has. The cold is a shock for a second, but he grits his teeth. 

He’s said too much but he’s- god he’s so mad that Steve won’t just _understand. _

“That’s my fucking life Steve, and they own half the wealth in the country so there’s absolute jack _shit _that you can do to change that.”

“Does that not bother you? Or do you not _care _that they get away with this shit just because he has money and power.”

Steve’s voice is so loud, and Tony’s heart is beating so fast. 

“Of course it fucking bothers me! But that’s how the world works!” Tony shouts, and his voice is bitter, awful. He’s awful, he’s shouting at Steve because he’s _scared _more than anything else. “That’s how the world works, that’s how _my _word works, and the quicker you understand that, the better!”

“So I’m supposed to just be _okay_ with all of this?” 

The rain is coming down hard now, but he can still fucking see Steve’s face and Steve’s eyes. They’re breaking him, because they’re in so much pain but they’re still so fucking innocent and god this is Tony’s fault, he should never have involved him in any of it. Selfish, selfish, selfish. 

Rhodey had once told him that when he gets hurt, he lashes out at the people who are trying to help. Anything to stop them seeing the damage that the hurt has done.

“What the fuck do you want me to say?” He yells. “That yeah I wish my father didn’t go for me every time he has a fucking drink? Do you want me to say I hate that I don’t have the ability to forget that Ty got me drunk and dragged me into his room when I was fifteen? That I still have nightmares about him-”

He can’t say it, he can’t even- The look on Steve’s face is near to devastation. This conversation- he was never meant to have this conversation with Steve. 

“I just want you to talk to me!" Steve shouts, and a part of Tony is still in shock because this is _Steve _and he's so calm and controlled and- "Just _talk _to me about this shit, all of it, and be careful, and don’t put yourself into situations where you’re vulnerable like that!”

“It wasn’t like I had much of a fucking choice!” He yells. 

Too far, he’s said too much, he-

The only sound is the rain. He can’t feel the cold of it anymore. 

“What,” Steve says quietly, “is that supposed to mean?”

He can’t, he can’t fucking tell him this because-

“Tony.” Steve says, and the anger is gone, evaporated like it was never there, but he can see the intensity in his gaze. He can’t look away. “What the hell is going on?”

“I can’t-”

He’s so close to breaking, can feel himself tearing apart at the seams, all the carefully put together parts to hide just how fucked up is everything is inside.

“Baby,” Steve says, voice soft. “Talk to me.”

And then suddenly, Tony’s so angry he can’t breathe, and his voice is rising again and he wants to break something or throw something and there's just so much of this _helpless _anger. 

“You want to fucking know?”

Steve’s face. His face. His _eyes. _

_You want to keep your boy safe? _

“Because of _you!” _He shouts, taking a step closer. “Because you are literally the only _goddamn_ thing Obadiah can use against me! And guess what! He fucking _did, _all because of the _stupid _business deal because he needs it and he doesn’t _care _how much I end up ruined to get it!”

Steve’s eyes are locked with his and Tony can see that he’s crying and can see the guilt in his eyes, but they’re both still fucking shouting and Tony feels like the worst person alive but he just wants him to understand-

“I don’t need your protection!” 

“You do from _them!” _He shouts, and his voice breaks, and now he’s crying too, tears mixing with the rain on his face. He can taste salt. “You fucking do from them Steve!”

“Not at the expense of _you.” _He’s never heard Steve this angry, never heard him shout like this. “Why the _hell _would you think it’s ever okay to give in to _anything _that monster wants for _me- _”

“Because I’m in love with you!”

Silence. 

Tony isn’t sure he’s breathing, isn’t sure _Steve _is breathing. 

“You- you’re what?”

“I’m in love with you,” Tony says, and the anger is still there but it’s muted now. “I’m in _love _with you, and it’s not a goddamn _option _because if I had the choice I would pick to protect you, every single _damn _time, and I don’t fucking _care _what happens to me as long as I’m keeping you _safe_.”

Steve steps towards him, and there’s so much in his eyes and Tony can’t breathe because he fucking loves him but all he does is hurt him, even when he doesn’t mean to. 

He lashes out, hitting Steve in the chest without any real force, because the last thing he wants to do is hurt him more, and he’s breaking_, _he’s being ripped apart but Steve is _here_. If he falls, he’s going to keep falling until he hits the ground and shatters. 

“I can’t-”

All he does is hurt people. All he does is hurt Steve.

“It’s okay,” Steve says softly, taking his wrists gently and pulling him tight against him. Tony fights it, because he doesn’t want his pity, he wants to protect him and he just wants him to be _safe- _

“I hate you,” he says, nothing more than a whisper. It’s a lie, he could never. He thinks he’s crying, he knows he is. But he doesn’t care about anything anymore because Steve fucking messed it up and now Obie will hit back because that’s what he _does. _His chest is heaving, and he bites back a sob, clenching his eyes shut as it tears out of him_. _ “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you-”

“I know baby,” Steve murmurs, pulling him closer and just holding Tony as he breaks, shatters over and over into a thousand pieces. Steve is holding him together, is the _only _thing holding him together. “I know. It’s okay.”

“You should’ve just let him do it.” He whispers, and then he’s just crying, crying in a way he hasn’t in years. He can’t breathe, but the rain is a constant around them, washing away everything else. Washing away the fear, the pain, the tears, everything. 

It’s a constant amidst the chaos that they’re made of. 

Steve’s arms tighten around him, and he can hear his heart, the steady beat is loud in his ears. 

“Never, Okay? That’s never an option. We can figure this out, and there’s always another option that isn't giving in to them.”

“He-”

“I don’t care,” and Steve’s voice is strong, calming. An anchor. “I don’t care what anyone says. I’m not letting you give everything up for me, okay? I’m not.”

He doesn’t know how long they stand there for, but it’s long enough. 

_Breathe. _

For the first time in a while, the next breath isn’t a struggle. 

The rain doesn’t care about anything, about him or Steve or anyone else in the world. It’s nature, it’s powerful, it’s clean. 

It makes Tony feel small as he stands, wrapped in Steve’s arms. For the first time, nothing else matters except for this. Steve is warm, the rain is cold. 

He thinks of the drawing in the last page of Steve's sketchbook, it seems like a lifetime ago. 

_The man behind the armour._

_Breathe_. 

He breathes. 

His heartbeat isn’t too fast anymore, it’s steady. He pulls gently against Steve’s grip, and he lets him go, shifting backwards slightly. 

_I’m sorry, _are the first words in his head. But that’s not what he wants to say. 

“I love you,” he says quietly, and the rain keeps falling. Steve is warm. “But I don’t- I don’t need you to say it back-”

“Tony,” Steve interrupts, and his voice is soft. “You’re an idiot.”

He blinks. “What?”

Steve shakes his head, tipping Tony’s face up to meet his gaze. And what Tony sees in his eyes takes his breath away. “I’ve been in love with you for weeks. Probably a little bit since the first time I saw you.”

Tony just stares at him as Steve reaches out, brushing his thumb along the curve of his cheekbone. 

“I love you.” He repeats with a small smile. “So you can stop worrying about that.”

Steve loves him. He _loves _him. 

“Oh.” He says, eyes wide. 

“Yeah.” Steve’s smile is soft, teasing. “Oh.”

Tony's curls are plastered to his head, and he’s soaked to the bone in November rain. 

He doesn’t care. 

He reaches up, kissing Steve gently. 

It feels like coming home. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! I'm sO sorry that it's taken me so long to write this. I was hit by a MAJOR load of writers block, and then school, and then I got sick, and then and then and tHEN I finally managed to find some time to just sit down and write it. Anyway, I hope you like it :)

Tony could get used to waking up like this. 

When he opens his eyes, the room is filled with light, the sort of light that you can only get when its a cold December morning. 

He rolls over gently, leg tingling as he moves. But a dead leg is definitely worth it as he focuses in on what is around him, or mainly who is in his bed.

Steve is lying next to him, arm stretched out behind Tony's head. For the first time in a while, he looks totally peaceful, expression almost serene in sleep. He can feel the warmth that Steve gives off, and itches to curl back into it, to just fall against him and sleep for another three hours. 

Tony considers the last twenty-four hours, and a slight embarrassment flashes through him, along with a fair amount of guilt. It certainly puts a damper on his mood a little. He had… he had shouted a lot, too much. Given away far too much. But he doesn’t think he regrets it, because Steve hasn’t run, he’s still here. Even though he had said awful, horrible things, told Steve the worst parts about himself. He’s still here. 

It had taken Tony an hour to warm up after the shocking cold of the rain had finally hit him. The shower had most definitely helped, especially when Steve had knocked on the door gently to see if he was okay, and Tony hadn’t even hesitated before taking his hand and tugging him into the bathroom. 

The last time he had woken up like this, Tony had slipped out of bed and tried to sneak out, tried everything he could to hide from the feelings he knew were building inside of him. This time…

He reaches out almost hesitantly, running his fingers over Steve’s face, brushing against his hair, touching his lips. Then he makes himself comfortable against his chest, kissing him gently.

Steve opens his eyes, and Tony wonders if the blue of them will always be this startlingly beautiful, if they’ll ever make his breath stop a little less. 

He really doubts it. 

“Morning.” He says with a laugh, kissing him again.

Steve smiles, shifting slightly and pulling Tony against him. “Hi.”

He hums as Steve readjusts their positions, and the warmth of his skin going all the way to Tony’s bones. 

“I love you,” Tony says quietly, because he has been afraid of saying it for so long, and now he can say it without any of the fear, or less of it at least, so he's just making up for lost time. 

And yet… there are still some lines of lingering worry on Steve’s face, worry that makes something in his chest ache, because he knows he caused them, even if he hadn’t meant to. Tony reaches out, gently smoothing his fingers over them, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, and Tony knows he means it in more than one way. But Steve shouldn't be asking him, shouldn’t be worrying about him, he’s fine-

But he's not fine. Or at least he wasn't. He thinks about the shouting they’d both done, Ty, Obadiah, Howard, the rain, everything that he had told Steve. He thinks about the weight that seems to have… not vanished. But lessened. He can breathe easily now. 

For the first time in a while, Tony finds he can answer honestly.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah I really am.”

He feels Steve trace a pattern over his arm. “That’s- that’s so good love.”

Tony closes his eyes, letting himself relax against Steve. And then two minutes later, he sits up; raising his eyebrows at the noise he had just heard. 

“You’re hungry.” It’s not a question. Steve’s stomach speaks for itself. 

Steve looks vaguely uncomfortable, glancing at him through his lashes with those stupid blue eyes. 

Maybe breakfast can wait…

“Uh… yes. A bit.”

Tony snaps out of the slight daze of _how is my boyfriend this hot, _and nods, gently disentangling himself from Steve’s arms. The loss of warmth is enough to make him huff a bit, but he isn’t worried. Steve isn’t going anywhere. 

“Okay. Breakfast. When did you last eat sweetheart?”

Steve eases out of the bed, grabbing his hand and kissing it, and completely avoiding the question.

And now Tony is blushing like a fifteen year old. Excellent. 

He clears his throat, shoving away the urge to kiss him and kiss him and-

“Steve. Breakfast. Food.”

“Right.” Steve blinks, flashing him a smile that is a cross between soft and sinful. It shouldn’t be possible, definitely not for someone like Steve, and yet here they are. 

Tony doesn’t resist when he’s pulled into another kiss, and he can feel the heat of Steve’s skin and it’s so _warm_. He lets himself melt into it, because this is what it’s supposed to feel like, and his heart is pounding loud enough that he’s sure Steve can hear it. 

“We really should have breakfast,” he whispers against Steve’s lips. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, kissing down his neck. “That’s a good plan.”

Tony closes his eyes, hands gripping Steve’s arms. “You’re evil.”

“Nope.” He can _hear _the smile in Steve’s voice, hear the warm curl to all the words that are coming out of his mouth. “I just don’t understand the problem.” 

Tony pushes him away gently, unable to wipe the smile off his face, but stubbornly refusing to get dragged back into yet another kiss. 

“You wanted breakfast. Why don’t we go down to the cafe, get some waffles.”

Steve’s smile shifts into something so _soft_, and Tony has to look away, something in him unwilling to meet his gaze. Everything seems to have suddenly fallen away, and the teasing humour has vanished. It’s not a bad feeling, but it’s a quiet one. Like something is holding its breath. 

“Hey,” Steve says quietly, “What’s up?”

Tony shakes his head, leaning forwards until his forehead rests against Steve’s shoulder, closing his eyes and just breathing. He can feel Steve’s fingers running through his hair, and every touch sends another flash of warmth through him. 

“What’s up baby?” Steve says again, and his voice is low, gentle. Soothing. 

Tony doesn’t answer, not sure if he can find the words. He feels familiar hands brush over his neck as Steve shifts their positions, tipping his face upwards and gently forcing Tony to meet his gaze.

“Hey. Talk to me, remember?”

“It’s just-” His hands are soft, and Tony leans into the touch as Steve cups his cheek. So gentle, he’s so gentle. “It’s a lot.”

Steve immediately moves his hands away, but Tony grabs his wrist in a loose grip before he can get far. 

“Not what I meant.” He says with a half smile, bringing Steve’s hand up to his mouth pressing a kiss to his fingers. “I’m just not used to all of this.”

“Tony, listen.” Steve says, and Tony really does look now, because there’s something in his voice that gives him pause. “We can go as slow as you want, with literally everything. Any time it gets too much? You tell me, and I’ll back off.”

“I don’t want you to back off.” 

That’s the last thing he wants, ever. 

“Then that’s okay too.” Steve’s lips curve into a quiet smile. “More than okay. I just want you to be able to talk to me, and realise that I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m just… I’m worried.”

“About what?” 

_I just want you to be able to talk to me._

This is Steve. He can tell him anything. 

He releases a breath, closing his eyes for a second. “I’m worried about Obie, about my father. They like to hit back when they’re threatened and-”

“Hey,” Steve says softly, brushing some hair out of his face. “It’s okay. We’re going to work this out, and I’m here.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m going to be fine love. Just worry about yourself. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Tony looks at him, really looks at him, and for a second, words don’t come. 

He’s never thought of love as something soft, never thought he would be okay with being like this with someone else. 

Vulnerable.

But no matter how much Tony pushes him away, he knows Steve won’t break, he won’t run, he won’t leave him alone. 

Steve is the furthest thing from weak. He’s steady, a mix of a raging fire of emotions and the never-ending presence of the ocean. It’s almost infinite, how deep Steve’s loyalty goes, how good his heart is 

He won’t leave Tony alone. 

He finds his voice again. 

“I love you.”

That’s surprise he can see in Steve's eyes, and he reaches up, kissing him once, twice. 

The surprise is gone, the steadiness remains in his gaze. 

“I love you too. Waffles are on me.”

Tony’s lips curl into a smile. “You know I’m a literal billionaire, right?”

“Even more reason why I have to buy you waffles. I don’t make the rules, sorry.” 

Tony shakes his head, and he knows that there are no masks up now, nothing hiding what he’s feeling. For the first time, that doesn’t scare him. 

“Fine. But dinner tomorrow is on me. No arguments allowed.”

“Can we get coffee afterwards?”

“Darling. I literally live off coffee. There won’t be any complaints about that.”

Steve laughs, lacing their fingers together, and Tony leans into his warmth, putting everything else out of his mind. 

-

When they get there, the cafe is just opening, and Steve can literally _smell _the waffles. Or maybe that’s just how hungry he is. He waves at Nat as Tony pushes open the door, offering her a hesitant smile. For a second, there’s no sound in the room, and then Nat is walking towards them, holding out her hand. Tony shakes it and Steve sees something in him relax, most likely out of relief. 

“I wanted to apologise for… being harsh. With my judgement of you.” 

He’s never seen Nat stumble over words or hesitate, but she’s nervous now, that much he can tell. 

Tony raises his eyebrows as she speaks, tipping his head to the side and looking at her almost quizzically, before his face relaxes into a smile. 

“That’s human, I won’t hold it against you.”

She shrugs, folding her arms. 

“Still. It was a dick thing to do. So I made up for it by having a few words with the asshole at the party.”

She knows Ty’s name, Steve told her in the car. He’s unbelievably grateful that she doesn’t say it though. Steve glances at Tony, gauging his reaction. For a second, there’s a flash of savage pleasure in his face before it rearranged into something more neutral. Steve wonders where and _when_ Tony learnt to control his expressions so well. He’s not sure he wants to know. 

“Ty…” Steve sees Tony swallow, eyes shuttering slightly, and _really_ wants to murder Tiberius Stone. He reaches out, lacing their fingers together, and Tony shoots him a look that is a mix of thanks and relief. “Ty is powerful. So he might not want to let that go. Same with Obadiah.”

Steve touches his arm gently, and Tony turns to look at him with a frown that quickly relaxes. 

“We’ll work it out.” Steve says. “Okay? It’ll be fine.”

Nat breaks the silence with a half smile. 

“I’m guessing you guys want waffles. And coffee?” 

“Yes. Very much.”

There’s still a lingering worry he can see in Tony’s eyes, and he knows that this problem won’t be easily solved. 

But it doesn’t matter now, because what does matter is waffles, and eating breakfast, and trying to get free coffee off Nat. 

-

“Please?”

“No.” But despite the glare she shoots him, Steve knows there’s no malice behind it. “No free coffee.”

“I _work _here.”

She shrugs, a smile tugging at her lips. “Right. And how often are you actually _working.”_

They’re sitting around one of the booths in the corner, and Nat has her arms folded, which means it’s totally pointless to argue, except he’s much too stubborn to drop it now. 

Tony raises his hand, leaning forward a little, and his eyes look lighter. Happier. 

“There’s a _tiny_ possibility that this might be my fault.”

Nat inclines her head with a grin, and Steve knows it was the right thing to do, bringing Tony here, however much he's getting ganged up against right now. 

“There you go Steve. Your boyfriend agrees.”

Tony laughs, having another drink of his coffee, and Steve tries to wipe the stupidly happy smile off his face. He rolls his eyes in defeat instead, shooting Nat a mock glare. 

“This isn’t over.”

She winks. “If you trade off sex with him for morning shifts Steve, I’ll fire you.”

Tony launches into a coughing fit, and Steve feels a humming sort of delight at the sight of him blushing.

Steve grins, gently taking Tony’s hand under the table. 

“Point made.”

But when they’re done, Nat hands him back the money he’d paid her with another wink, pouring them all more coffee. 

Tony smiles, and it’s worth everything. 

-

Steve drags himself into his afternoon classes after their late breakfast, even though there really isn’t anything he’d rather do _less _right now. But art is something he loves, and he’s not going to fail at something he put half his life’s savings into. 

Also, Tony had mentioned something about a movie night. So his motivation to get to class and then get _out _again had increased rather a lot. 

By the time it’s dark, Steve is back in Tony’s apartment, and he really would sell his soul to have someone freeze time so he could stay here forever. 

They’re lying on the sofa, and for all his teasing about Steve actually having to _watch _the movie, Tony is the one who is falling asleep on top of him. He can’t say he’s complaining, because Tony’s weight on his chest is strangely comforting. He can only see the top of Tony’s head, a mess of curls. The rest of him is covered in a giant hoodie (it’s _Steve’s _hoodie, and he won’t pretend that doesn’t make him feel more than a little pleased) and a blanket. 

He shifts slightly, reaching out and brushing some of the hair out of Tony’s face. Tony huffs, and Steve feels his grip tighten, hands curling around his shirt as Tony burrows deeper into his chest. 

“You okay there?” Steve says, and his voice is filled with quiet amusement. 

Tony hums, lifting his head to nod. “How come you have all the comfy jumpers?”

Steve laughs, kissing him gently, and the light in Tony’s eyes is really worth everything. 

Then his phone buzzes with a text and he groans, pulling it out of his pocket carefully, trying not to move Tony. It’s Clint, and he needs help with an assignment. For a second, he considers saying no, but then he remembers how much help his friend gives _him. _

“I should probably get going.” Steve says softly, but still making no effort to move. 

“Uh huh. Or… you could just stay the night?”

Tony’s voice has shifted into something silky smooth, and Steve clears his throat, suddenly feeling hot all over. 

“Oh?”

Tony grins, shifting so that their eyes meet, and Steve can see something shimmering and dark in his gaze. He hesitates for a second, wavering, because he really _really _wants to grab Tony’s hand and spend a couple of hours in his very comfortable bed. Besides… Clint doesn’t really _need _him, does he?

His phone buzzes again. 

_Steve. I really, really, need help with this. _

He sighs heavily, pushing himself into a sitting position and leaning down to pull Tony into a kiss. 

“I really have to go.”

Tony smiles against his lips, and then pulls away with a wink. 

“I’m keeping the hoodie until you get back.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too as he untangles himself from Tony’s grip and stands, grabbing his jacket off a chair. 

“You would keep it even if I said no.”

Tony smirks, and Steve can _feel _his eyes on him as he moves around the apartment, trying to find his shoes. 

“Stop staring,” he says with without turning around, smile tugging at his lips. 

Tony’s voice is light, filled with laughter. 

“You have a great ass. Sue me.”

Steve is definitely blushing, he knows that much, but doesn’t make an effort to hide it as he hears fabric shifting and then feels hands touching his shoulders. 

“You’re sure you have to go?”

He turns around, and Tony winds his arms around his neck, reaching up to kiss him. He realises that it might be more than what Tony is telling him. That maybe he just doesn’t want to be alone. 

Another text comes through.

_Too slow Rogers. I asked Nat, she’s coming instead. _

He smiles slightly, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

“Okay,” he says softly. 

You’re-”

“Staying,” Steve says with a small smile. “I just might run down to the store and get some more junk food.”

Something in him aches at the way Tony's eyes light up, and he has to kiss him again, pulling him closer. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” Tony leans forwards, resting his head against his shoulder for a second. “Just be careful.”

Steve laughs a little, resisting the urge to kiss him _again. _

“Baby, I'm just running to the store.”

Tony nods, lips tugging into a smile. “I know. Just… I don’t know. Be careful, humour me.”

“Okay. Promise.”

Tony gives him a little shove towards the door, laughing a little as Steve glares at him.

“Be quick.”

Steve rolls his eyes, waving as he closes the door gently behind him, Tony's laugh still ringing in his ears. 

-

By the time he gets to the store, he’s beginning to regret going out at all. 

Because of _course _the only one that’s nearby is goddamn closed. 

“Shit,” he says under his breath, backtracking down the street. There’s another store a couple of blocks away, it’s not the end of the world. But it’s dark, and frankly all he wants to do is go and get back into bed with Tony. 

_Think of the junk food. _

It’s fine. Just down the road. 

He sighs heavily, tugging his jacket tighter around himself and shoving his hands into the pockets. 

He heads down the street, taking a shortcut to the left because if he’s going to be wandering around New York at 11pm to find junk food, he’s not doing it for longer than necessary. 

Halfway down the alley, he realises just how dark it is. But honestly, that’s the last thing on his mind, because he would literally kill for chocolate right now. 

His phone rings, and he laughs slightly, pulling it out of his pocket. 

“Clingy much?”

Tony’s voice comes back to him, laced with a wicked humour. 

“You know I am darling, so don’t even try to deny it. You nearly back?”

“Nope. The store was shut, I’m going to another.”

Steve hears a few muttered curses in Italian on the other side of the line, and resists the urge to smile. 

“Don’t be dramatic love, I’ll be fast.”

“You owe me loads of sex. And chocolate.”

He rolls his eyes, taking another turn. 

“You know that’s happening whether I make it to this store alive or not.”

“Let’s not joke about that sweetheart.” He can hear the smile in Tony’s voice. “Just hurry up, okay?”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you too. Now hurry. Chocolate, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Steve says dryly, hanging up with a laugh. 

As he reaches the end of the road, he realises there’s someone behind him. And it’s fine, it doesn’t matter, but all he can hear is Tony’s voice. 

_Just be careful. _

Okay. He’s been watching too much true crime. And hasn’t had enough sleep. 

But still, he nearly jumps out of his skin as a hand lands on his shoulder. 

“Hey man, you have a second?”

He tries to slow his breathing as he turns around to face the guy behind him. He can only really see half his face, but there’s a smile there. 

“Sure. You need something?”

“Any idea where the nearest store is? I’m craving some junk food right now.”

Steve nods slowly, ignoring the fact that he’s holding his phone way too tightly. 

“Yeah. Just down the road from here.”

“Thanks.” The man smiles again, and it looks familiar. 

When he hears more movement behind him, the warning bells go off. 

It’s only after the hands close around his arms that he realises how fucking _stupid _he is. 

_They like to hit back when they’re threatened. _

The first hit is in the face. The second knocks the wind out of him. On the third, he hears something crack. By the forth, he stops counting, because the pain makes everything fuzzy, and he can’t think, can’t _breathe._

He counts five men surrounding him before his vision starts to blur.

It’s over in less than three minutes.

One of them, he thinks maybe the man who had stopped him in the first place, is standing over him. He groans as a final kick connects with his ribs, and he’s not sure what hurts the most anymore. 

“Obadiah Stane sends his regards.”

He can’t breathe, everything hurts too much. 

He isn’t sure when they walked away, but it’s silent now. His whole body is screaming. 

His phone is still in his hand. 

Tony-

_Obadiah Stane sends his regards._

He hits call. The phone rings for eternity. When he picks up, Tony is laughing before Steve even hears him start to speak. 

“Steve darling, the true light of my life. I know you said _I_ was clingy, but it’s literally only been ten minutes. Tell me you’ve found the store.”

He can’t speak, can't _breathe. _

Silence. 

“Steve?” Tony's voice is tinged with worry now, and god he doesn’t want to worry him, that’s the last thing he's _ever _wanted, but he doesn’t know what else he _can_ do_. _“Are you okay love?”

“Tony.” Is the only thing he manages to get out, and a wave of pain shoots through him. “Tony-"

“Hey, hey hey baby, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I-”

“It’s okay,” Tony says quickly, and that’s panic he can hear in his voice now. “Doesn’t matter. Can you tell me where you are?”

He doesn’t know how he remembers the street name, doesn’t know how he finds the energy or the will or the words or anything. 

But he does it, and hears Tony release a shaky breath. 

“Okay, that’s good. That’s good baby. I’m on my way, okay?”

He thinks he says something, or makes a noise, or anything. 

“I need you to stay awake. Steve?”

“Yes.” he manages to get out, gritting his teeth against the next wave of pain. 

“Can you tell me what hurts?”

He laughs a little, and then immediately regrets it as his whole body aches. 

“Okay.” Tony sounds scared, and Steve’s throat tightens. “That was a stupid question. Just stay with me, okay?”

“Tony.”

His head is spinning now, all he wants to do is sleep. Everything feels darker. _Fuck _it hurts. 

“Right here baby. I'm so nearly there, just stay awake for me okay?”

“Hurts.” He manages to get out, fighting to keep his eyes open. 

“I know. I know love. I’m only one minute away.”

He’s never heard Tony like this. He’s heard him sad, exhausted, happy, laughing. But this fear? This panic? He’s never heard this before. 

He isn’t sure how much time passes, but eventually, he hears footsteps approaching, and then Tony is next to him, dropping to his knees on the sidewalk. 

“Hey, hey baby. You with me?”

Tony’s hands are on his cheeks, running over his face. It’s so gentle. He leans into the touch, eyes closing. 

“Nope.” Tony's grip tightens slightly, and Steve forces his eyes open. “Don’t you dare fall asleep right now. Steve? I’ve called an ambulance, you have to stay awake.”

“Can’t-”

Tony’s eyes are frantic with panic, wide with a helpless fear that Steve knows too well. It’s a fear that he would be able to recognise from anywhere, even half conscious like this.

“You can baby, you can. I don’t know what your injuries are, so you’ve got to be conscious when they get here. I love you, so just stay with me, okay?”

He wants to stay awake, he knows that he needs to, he just- 

“Please, please. Shit, Steve_. Please.” _

It hurts, and he’s so _tired_. 

The last thing he hears is Tony saying his name over and over, and then everything goes dark.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha- okay so I swear I meant to update this in time for Christmas, and then i didn't. And then it was supposed to be New Year which also didn't happen... and now here we are and it's the 23rd of January, and I'm finally updating :) hope you enjoy!

_Beep. Beep. Beep. _

Something in him drifts slowly back to consciousness. 

“No, I’m not sure you quite _get _the fact that this isn’t a request. It’s not an option, and it’s not a fucking question. Let me see him. Now.”

There’s a heavy silence apart from the machines. He can feel himself drifting between a state of awake and asleep. The voice filters back to him, his brain taking a second to process the words.

“You know _damn _well who I am, who my father is. You know that I can shut you down in _seconds_.”

“Mr Stark please consider-”

It’s a female voice speaking now. She sounds nervous. 

“Last chance.”

The person speaking is someone he knows. He definitely knows him, would know him anywhere. But his tone... it’s barely recognisable. It’s cold, hard. He’s only heard it one other time. Memories of a café flicker into his minds eye, an older man with a shark smile, and any lingering joy on the boy’s face vanishing.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow it at the moment. They’re still running tests on him, and so far it’s nothing to be too worried about. I can tell you there’s nothing life threatening. But I can’t let you see him yet, I’m sorry.”

“I just need-”

“In a couple of hours, I promise. Just let us help.”

He drifts again. 

Someone’s sitting next to him now, he can feel a tight but not too tight grip on his hand. There’s a shaky laugh, the coldness gone from his voice. Maybe he’s crying, but Steve can’t hold onto anything for long enough to open his eyes and see. 

The silence returns. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. _God, _I’m so sorry.”

Quiet. 

“I’m sorry.” Tony whispers again, and Steve wants nothing more than to reach out, to brush away the anguish he knows written into every line of his face, to say something, _anything. _

Everything fades away again. 

It's an eternity before the pain starts to come back to him. It’s muted now, so much more muted than before. It’s like… he’s in a bubble. Removed from everything else around him. 

Steve opens his eyes. 

It takes a second to adjust to the light as it filters in around him. He blinks against the brightness of it, a low hiss of pain escaping as he moves. 

“Ow.”

He tenses slightly as a gentle hand touches his cheek; relaxing as the face next to him comes into focus. It’s Tony. Tony. 

“Hi.” He manages to get out, throat dry. 

Tony’s smile is sad. 

“Hey sweetheart.”

Steve sighs, leaning into the touch. He can feel an ache in his bones, but there’s no IV, which is a good sign at least. 

“Nothing broken, just a lot of bruises, and a few stitches.” Tony says quietly, as if he can read Steve’s mind. Tony has always been able to do that, always been able to read him like an open book.

Tony’s thumb traces over his cheek, but the relaxing motion doesn’t match his tone when he speaks again.

“Who did this to you?”

Steve shakes his head, closing his eyes for a second. If he tells Tony, it will only add to the guilt, and there’s already so much of it in Tony’s voice, his eyes. He can’t be the one who makes it worse.

“Leave it Tony. It doesn’t matter.”

Tony laughs, but there’s no humour in it, and when Steve looks at him again, he can see shadows in his eyes that weren’t there before. 

“Of course it matters. Tell me, or I’ll go off my own assumptions and guesswork.”

Steve knows what that means, knows that Tony is definitely smart enough to figure it out with or without his help. But he can’t bring himself to say it.

“No.”

Tony pulls away, and there’s a flicker of betrayal in his eyes before his expression smooths over again. His face is carefully blank, and in the end, that is the thing that tells Steve just how much he’s hurting. 

“Tell me Steve.”

It’s steel in Tony’s voice now. It’s a tone that’s taken down billionaires, the same ice that he used on the nurse before. The same one he used on Steve that one time in the cafe, so long ago. He’s too tired to fight with Tony like this, doesn’t _want _to fight with him at all. He releases a breath, blowing out the air slowly.

“You already know.”

There’s no noticeable change on Tony’s face, but his voice is edged with something dangerous when he speaks again, standing up. 

“You’re sure?”

“That’s what they said when- That’s what they said.” He starts to turn away, and Steve feels a flash of desperation, a need to make him _stay. _“But listen, Tony I’m-”

Tony spins around, and that’s _rage _on his face now. It’s not directed at him, Steve knows it’s not directed at him. But he can feel it radiating from the billionaire in waves. 

“You’re not _fine _Steve. No of this is _fine.”_

“I know.” He says, trying to keep his voice steady. “I know. But leaving won’t help.”

Tony just looks at him, looks at him for a long, long time, and for a second, Steve thinks it’s worked, thinks he’s going to stay. But then he shakes his head and walks out without another word. Even before the door closes, he hears Tony speaking, already on the phone. 

“Yeah Happy, I need you to run him through the system.” Silence for a second, and Steve strains his ears to listen. “Yeah, it’s fine.” There’s another pause, and Steve is barely breathing as Tony continues. “This was my fault Happy. Don’t try to drag other people into it, okay?”

_No. _

Steve sits up properly, gritting his teeth at the flash of pain. It’s nowhere near as bad as it was before, but _shit _that still hurts like hell.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, testing his weight. Shaky. Fine. It’s fine. He’s fine. 

“Nope.” Tony snaps, and Steve can hear the anger in his voice now. Happy must have said something, asked something. “That really isn’t any of your business. That’ll be all. Call me back when you’ve got the names.”

_This is my fault. _

No. He’s not going to just _sit _here and let Tony blame himself for however many more hours. 

He’s out of the bed before he has time to think, biting back a curse as he shoves open the door, nearly colliding with his boyfriend. 

“Steve?” Tony’s previous anger has given way to shock, and Steve fights for breath as they face each other. The hallway is empty, and everything echoes a little in the quiet.

“He's not worth anything.”

“You’re going to tear your stitches.” Tony says quietly, reaching out as if he’s going to touch him, and then pulling his hand back. “You need to rest.”

“Well someone had to chase after you.”

Some hard edge in Tony’s eyes softens at this, and Steve realises how tired he looks. Exhausted, worried.

Like an eighteen year old boy who’s just scared for someone he loves. 

Nothing more, not a CEO, not even a businessman.

Just a boy. 

“Tony.” He says quietly, reaching out and taking his hand. He ignores the pain, it doesn’t matter right now. “It’s not worth it.”

When Tony smiles, Steve’s heart breaks a little, because he hasn't seen a smile that sad in a while. 

“It’s my fault that he came after you.”

Steve shakes his head, blinking hard. 

“No. It’s not. It’s _not.”_

Tony runs a hand through his hair, and there’s something close to anguish in his eyes. 

“He told me if I didn’t get Ty and his father to agree to that damn business deal, there would be consequences. I didn’t- I couldn’t let him, and you got hurt.”

“I- _god_ Tony, do you know how fucked up that is? I don’t care that I got hurt. I wasn’t about to let him go _near_ you if I could prevent it, damn the consequences.”

“You nearly _died _because I couldn’t just-_”_

“But I didn’t.” Steve cuts across him, trying to keep his voice steady “I didn’t because you saved me.”

“You could’ve. I just- ever since I walked into your life, everything has gone wrong. _Everything.”_

He takes a step forward, placing his hands on Tony’s shoulders and holding his gaze, begging him to understand. 

“Tony, it’s okay, it’s just a couple of bruises. I’m fine.”

Tony shakes his head again, looking at the floor, and Steve takes his face in his hands, tilting it upwards. 

“Tony, baby. Look at me, please. I promise I’m okay.”

For a second, Tony just stares at him, eyes a little wide. Steve realises he doesn’t know what he’s thinking, doesn’t know what he’s going to do. The thought scares him a little, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t let his hands drop.

It seems like a thousand years pass before Tony shakes his head again slowly, but Steve sees his shoulders relax, eyes losing some of their defensiveness. 

“I break everything I touch.” Tony whispers, and there’s something shattered in his voice. “I fuck it all up and put everyone in danger and I can’t-”

Without hesitating, Steve pulls him against his chest as Tony’s voice breaks, closing his eyes and just _breathing_. 

“No.” Steve says softly, hugging him tighter. “Tony you don’t. I’m glad I'm here, I’m glad I’m allowed to love you and be a part of your life. I wouldn't change that for the world, Okay?”

Gradually, he feels Tony relax against him, all the fight going out of him, until there’s nothing except for a peaceful quiet, and the two of them standing in the empty hallway.

“Okay.” Tony says quietly, burying his head in Steve’s chest and taking a deep, shuddering breath. “Okay.”

Steve breathes out, shoulders dropping in relief. 

“I love you.” Tony murmurs against his shirt, hands pressing against his back like he’s afraid Steve is about to break. “I really fucking love you.”

Steve blinks hard, everything that had happened over the last two days finally catching up to him, leaving him drained, exhausted. His arms tighten around Tony and he brings his hand up, gently running it through Tony’s hair.

“I love you too. So much. I just don’t want you to blame yourself for things that aren’t your fault.”

“Okay.” Tony whispers again, and maybe he’s lying, Steve isn’t sure. All he knows is that both of their grips are tight, and there’s no one else in the world right now apart from the two of them.

-

“Tony, I’m _fine.”_

The person in question folds his arms, dark eyes narrowed, and definitely not falling for any of Steve’s bullshit. 

“Fine my ass. You’re not going back to class right now Steve, Jesus Christ.”

Steve bites back the retort he so desperately wants to give, knowing that it won’t help in the slightest. He had been discharged from the hospital earlier in the morning, and Tony had been fussing over him since. It’s endearing, but also a pain in the ass. 

“I can’t just skip class.”

“You can when you’ve just had your ass kicked by people trained to kick ass for a shit load of money. Deal with it.”

“I paid for-”

“Steve.” Tony snaps, clearly losing patience. “You’re talking to a fucking billionaire. I’ll pay for what the class would’ve cost. Hell, if you would _let _me, you know I’d pay your college fees.”

“I don’t need you to do that.” Steve says quietly, anger deflating. “You know I don’t want you to do that.”

Tony runs a hand through his hair, flopping down on the sofa next to him. They’re back in Tony’s apartment, and the place is warm. 

“I know. I know you don’t want that, which is why I’m not going to. But you need to let me take care of you, and you need to let yourself relax, and you need to _heal. _If that means taking one fucking day off from classes, you’re going to take that day, even if I literally have to tie you to the bed myself.”

Steve feels his cheeks heat up and ducks his head slightly, because now is a _really _bad time to give Tony the upper hand in anything, but the image is there now. 

Tony laughs, seeing how red he’s gone, and it’s a dark laugh, voice slipping into something that reminds Steve of sin wrapped in silk. “_Oh. _Maybe you’re not such a saint after all.”

Steve hits him lightly with the closest cushion, still blushing like mad, and Tony laughs again, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. 

“When you’re healed up, maybe we can explore that a little bit more hm?”

_“_ _Tony_ _.”_

The other man grins, leaning in to kiss him softly. “Yep.”

“Don’t mess with me when I can’t do anything about it.”

Tony’s smile sharpens. “But that’s part of the fun sweetheart.”

Steve reaches up, tugging him into another kiss, and Tony pulls away for a second. 

“The stitches.”

“Screw the stitches.” Steve says, voice low, and he hears Tony’s breath hitch slightly, but he pulls away again anyway. 

“Nope. You can have insanely good sex, but only when you’re healed.”

“Someone thinks rather highly of himself.” Steve says with a laugh, watching Tony stand and walk over to the kitchen to make some more coffee. 

Tony throws him a wink. “Your words not mine darling.”

“I- sorry, _when _did I say that?”

Tony shrugs, smile widening. “You didn’t. It was just heavily implied. You’re rather loud.”

Steve blushes again, throwing a pillow at his head. Tony dodges with a laugh, and Steve smiles too, shaking his head because Tony’s laugh will never _not _make everything feel lighter and softer. 

He waits as Tony makes the coffee and then he comes over to hand Steve a mug, retaking his seat on the sofa with a smile.

Steve watches as Tony takes a sip and closes his eyes, just taking in the sight of the billionaire. There’s something strangely intimate about watching Tony when he doesn’t know he’s being watched. There’s a softness on his face that no one else really sees, a softness that comes with being vulnerable, something that Steve knows is rare. As he watches, a stray curl falls into Tony’s face, and without hesitating, he reaches up and tucks it back again, hand hovering against his cheek. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Steve whispers, brushing his fingers through his hair, smoothing it away from his face. 

Tony blushes, mouth curling into a small smile, and it’s one of the first times Steve has seen him blush, and a humming sort of pleasure comes to life in his chest. 

“I mean it.” He says again, soft and honest and real, because Tony doesn’t hear it enough, if the look on his face is any indication. Steve tugs him closer, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I love you.”

Tony pulls away, and there’s something so vulnerable in his eyes, something that makes Steve catch his breath. Tony leans forwards, pressing their foreheads together, and then they’re both just breathing, and Steve can feel something inside of him relaxing, every part of him sliding into a sort of peaceful bliss. Happy. Tony’s happy, they’re both _happy. _

The phone rings, and Steve is jolted back to reality. 

He opens his eyes. Really, he needs to stop being surprised by bad timings. 

“Ignore it.”

Tony pulls it out of his pocket anyway, glancing at the caller ID. A mix of emotions flash across his face, but Steve can see the rage loud and clear, burning through everything else, burning through the blissful joy. Suddenly, Steve knows _exactly_ who is on the other end of that phone.

“Tony don’t-”

Tony picks up the phone with a razor sharp smile, the blazing anger not faltering for a second, flicking it to speakerphone.

“Obie. I won’t say it’s a pleasure.”

The other man’s smooth voice comes through the line, and Steve tenses because he hates it for a reason that he can’t put his finger on. 

_“Tony, you know it’s rude to speak to your superiors like that.”_

“Last I checked, blackmail and emotional manipulation are _also_ rude. Funny how that works, isn’t it?”

There’s a silky soft laugh, and it makes Steve want to break something, because he sees Tony flinch slightly at the sound, despite the bravado in his words. 

_“Oh Tony, you always have been so dramatic. But trading insults isn’t why I called, believe it or not. I have some news.”_

As he speaks, there’s a knock on the door and Tony gets up to open it, phone in hand. Steve follows a couple of steps behind, listening to the conversation that is still going on. 

“It’ll have to wait Obie. I’m busy right now.”

_“It’s important.”_

“That’s not my problem.” Tony says, pulling open the door.

They both stop dead as Obadiah Stane hangs up the phone, standing outside of the apartment. 

“I thought you might say that, so I decided to come over and deliver it in person.”

Before either of them can react, he steps inside, and Tony shifts backwards so that he’s standing next to Steve. Obadiah nods towards them and steps closer. He’s too close now, right up in Steve’s space, but he refuses to move backwards, refuses to yield a step. 

“Steve Rogers, correct? I’m so glad you’re going to make a speedy recovery. Awful, the amount of muggings that happen around this time of year, don’t you think?”

He doesn’t think Tony is breathing next to him, and Steve is shaking a bit, trembling with anger and something a little like fear, but not for himself. Obadiah reaches out, touching one of the bruises on his face, pressing down on the skin. Hard. Steve inhales sharply, swallowing the urge to flinch away from his touch.

“That looks like it hurts a little-”

Tony unfreezes, knocking Obadiah’s hand away and stepping in front of Steve in the space of a second, effectively cutting him off. Tony glances once behind him at Steve and then turns back to Obie, but the split second is enough. He sees the anger that had previously been on Tony’s face again, but this time it’s ten times stronger, fire flickering to life in his eyes. Steve has a flash of clarity, and realises _exactly_ why the media’s favourite nickname for Tony Stark is the Merchant of Death, weapons selling or not.

“You,” Tony says, voice deadly soft, “do not get to fucking _touch_ him.”

Steve didn’t know Tony’s voice could sound like that, didn’t know he was capable of that much ice cold, vicious, _dangerous _anger. 

Something flashes across Obadiah’s face and he takes a step backwards. Steve doesn’t move, not letting himself relax, hardly daring to breathe. Tony is still in front of him, unmovable. 

“I suggest you say what you came here to say and then _leave_. You’ve got twenty seconds.”

Obie smiles, meeting Tony’s eyes. 

“Just to let you know that your parents are on their way to Malibu now, and that you’ll be attending a New Year’s party there in a few weeks time.”

“You could have sent that through Pepper.” Tony near snarls, and Steve resists the urge to shove Obadiah out of the door.

“But what would be the fun in that?” Obie says with a smirk, nodding at Steve again. “Hope those bruises heal soon.”

And then he’s gone.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, Tony exhales, turning around to face Steve. The burning anger is almost gone, a tiny sliver of it still lingering in his eyes. He doesn’t speak, just wordlessly leaning into Steve. He can feel Tony shaking, and he’s not sure whether it’s anger or fear, or maybe both. 

“He’s gone.” Says Steve quietly, dragging his hands through Tony’s hair. “He’s gone.”

After a while, it could’ve been hours, maybe seconds, Tony pulls away, a small smile tugging at his lips. 

“He looked a little nervous at the end there.”

_Good. _

Steve huffs a laugh instead, kissing him. “You don’t say.” 

“How are you feeling?” Tony says, touching his face lightly. His touch is gentle, so much more gentle than Obadiah’s, and Steve feels an overwhelming urge to close his eyes and sleep for a year. 

“Good. Tired. Didn’t pull any stitches, and it doesn’t hurt when I breathe anymore.”

“Always good.” Tony says with a quiet laugh, lacing their fingers together and leading him back to the sofa. “Now sit down and relax for a bit, okay?”

The exhaustion is hitting him now, hitting hard, but he isn’t complaining as he sinks into the cushions, body relaxing.

“Okay.”

Tony smiles a little, pulling a blanket over him, and Steve’s eyes slip shut.

-

When he wakes up, he guesses it’s been a few hours by the difference in light. He can hear Tony moving around in the kitchen, and smiles involuntarily, because it’s Tony. 

“You’re drinking _more _coffee?”

His boyfriend’s laugh filters past him, and the smell of coffee follows soon after. That’s his question answered at least. 

“Of course I am sweetheart. Surprised?”

“Not in the slightest.” Steve says with a grin, sitting up with a tiny wince. He feels better, a lot better. He feels stiff, still tired, but so much more functional than before. 

“Sleep well?”

“Surprisingly yes. I feel a hell of a lot better.”

“Good.” Tony smiles slightly, setting the coffee mug in his hand down on the table. His face softens into a smile. “Steve-” He realises Tony looks serious, looks nervous, and his heart jumps in his chest for a second. “Listen, this is going to sound… I don’t know. But I was just wondering if maybe you would-”

The doorbell rings. 

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Tony shrugs, nervous smile vanishing from his face. “No clue who that it is. Wait here.”

Steve ignores that last request, following Tony to the door yet again. 

After everything, he’s not entirely sure he’s _surprised _to see Obadiah Stane standing there. 

Again. 

Tony is the first to react. 

“What the _hell_ are you-”

“Tony.”

There’s something in Obadiah's voice that makes Steve go still. Tony’s sentence trails away, and Steve shifts closer to him, heart pounding. 

He sees Tony square his shoulders. 

“Why are you here Obie?”

The question is no longer accusatory, but resigned. There is no smile on Obadiah’s face anymore, not like last time, and the man straightens the lapels of his jacket, looking Tony dead in the eye. 

“There’s been an accident.”

He can’t see Tony’s face, but he can imagine what’s on it right now. Because Steve… he can guess. He can fucking _guess_ what Obadiah is about to say and he wants to yell at him not to, even though that won’t take away the truth-

“What happened?” Tony says, and his voice is empty, because he knows, he knows but-

There’s silence for a second, and Steve can feel every pounding beat of his heart. After a thousand years, Obadiah exhales, sliding his hands into his pockets. 

“Your parents were in a car crash on the way to the airport this morning.”

Tony has gone so so _still_, and Steve feels sick, aching to reach out and pull Tony to him, wanting the other man _out _of the apartment. Tony swallows, takes a breath in. Steve sees his hands before he tucks them into his pockets. They’re shaking badly. 

“Mom?” The word is a whisper, barely anything at all, and something in Steve shatters at the sound.

“She was driving. They were both killed instantly.” Obadiah says quietly. “They wouldn't have been in any pain.”

Tony’s whole body is shaking, Steve can see that much. 

_Shock, _his brain supplies. _This is shock. _

He takes a step forward, forcing Obadiah to move backwards. “You need to go.”

“He needs his _family _right now.” The man hisses, and Steve shakes his head. 

“No. What he needs is for you to _leave_.”

Obadiah holds his gaze for a second, but Steve doesn’t falter, meeting it head on. And then the man nods, giving Steve a smile that reminds him of a shark. 

“Watch yourself Rogers.”

And then, for the second time that day, he’s gone. 

Steve doesn’t wait for more than a second before closing the door, turning back to Tony.

“Tony-”

“No.”

He can see the walls slamming into place, crashing down between Steve and the endless, consuming, _wave_s of grief that are cresting in Tony’s eyes right now. 

“Tony.” He says again, softly, taking a step forward. 

Tony backs away, slamming into the wall, still shaking his head. He looks frantic, panicking, _scared._

“No no no-”

“Baby-”

“Please.” Tony whispers, eyes closing. “_Please _don’t. Don’t. I can’t. I _can’t- _god. Fuck, _Fuck-”_

“I'm sorry.” Steve says quietly, feeling the burn of tears in his eyes, and he blinks them back. “Tony, baby, just-”

His knees buckle, and Steve lunges forward, ignoring the flash of pain and catching him before he hits the floor. Steve lowers them both gently down into a sitting position, holding Tony tight. 

“I’m here, I’m here.”

The shaking hasn’t lessened. If anything, it’s getting worse. Tony’s hands curl into his shirt, gripping tight, tight enough to hurt. He doesn’t care. 

“Mom.” Tony whispers against his shoulder, and his heart is breaking because no one should have to do this and it’s Tony and- 

“I’m sorry.” Steve says, pulling him closer. “God Tony _I’m sorry_.” 

An almost inhuman cry of grief is wrenched out of Tony as the walls shatter, and it sends goosebumps crawling over Steve’s skin. It’s a sound of pure distress, and his grip tightens. Steve feels hot tears hit his neck, and once one falls, they just keep coming as cry after cry is ripped from Tony. He’s murmuring one word against his skin over and over, and each time is like a knife in Steve’s heart.

“_Mom-_”

“I know baby.” He whispers, carding a hand through Tony’s hair and letting him break, letting him give into the endless ocean of grief and loss, hand rubbing circles on his back. “I’m so sorry.”

Sobs wrack Tony’s body, tears coming faster, and Steve no longer knows what to _do_. He’s never seen him like this, not even that evening in the rain, not even after Ty.

_His mom-_

God. _God. _

Steve’s shirt is soaked with Tony’s tears, but he doesn’t care, just adjusts their positions so that he’s leaning against the wall, pulling Tony into his lap. 

“I’m here.” He whispers. “I’m right here.”

Slowly, so slowly, the tears subside. The shaking takes longer. Steve doesn’t know what time it is when he stops feeling Tony’s grief seeping into his skin, but it’s well past the night and into the early hours of the morning. 

Eventually, Tony drifts off to sleep, but even unconscious there’s a shadow of a bone deep grief on his face. Steve shifts slightly, standing up, and gently lifting Tony, biting back a hiss of pain. He carries him through to the sofa, lying him down again and grabbing one of the blankets. As he goes to move away, Tony’s hand tightens around his shirt again. 

“Stay.” He whispers, eyes still closed, clearly half asleep. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” Steve murmurs, pulling Tony’s head into his lap and making himself comfortable. He brushes a hand through Tony’s hair, wiping gently at the tearstains that are traced into his skin. 

Tony is a solid weight on his chest, a warmth that he can’t feel. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but it happens at some point, slowly, then all at once. 

It’s not a peaceful sleep. 

-

When Tony opens his eyes, they’re aching. His brain clicks into gear slowly, memories filtering in. There’s someone warm underneath him, someone breathing steadily. His hand is curled too tightly around his shirt. _Steve’s_ shirt. It’s Steve. 

He shifts slightly, blinking, and reaches up, touching his cheek. His fingers come away wet with tears, like he’d been crying in his sleep. But why-

It crashes back into him with the force of a wave. 

_Mom? _

He can’t breathe. He can’t _breathe. _

“Tony?”

Steve sits up fast, hands steady and solid on his face as he cups it. Tony can’t breathe, he still can’t fucking breathe or move as wave after wave after wave of grief crashes over him. It’s endless, it’s drowning him, it’s suffocating and there’s no end, it just keeps coming. He can’t see, can’t think, and can’t breathe. He wonders if this is what it feels like to finally break. What would happen if he just let it sweep him away? 

_Mom. _

God, he can’t move, he can’t, he can’t-

“Breathe with me.” Steve says, voice breaking through the panic, and the pain, and _oh god ohgodohgod mom-_ “You need to breathe Tony.”

He sucks in a breath, biting back a sob, latching onto the sound of Steve’s voice like an anchor, clinging on as the storm rages around him. 

Breathe. Breathe. _Breathe. _

He breathes. 

Slowly, it gets easier. In. Out. His heart is racing, too fast, too loud. Breathe. 

He blinks again, pulling away slightly, focusing in on Steve’s face. 

“Steve.”

The person in question smiles sadly at him, brushing away tears Tony hadn’t noticed had fallen. 

“Hey. You scared me for a second there.”

Tony shakes his head, everything aching, everything tired. He’s so goddamn tired. 

“You-” His voice comes out low, wet with tears. He swallows, tries again. “You look like shit.” 

Steve laughs, but it fades in a second, and he shakes his head. “Fair.” Steve swallows. “Tony, listen I’m-”

He shakes his head, closing his eyes for a second. 

“Don’t. I need- I don’t know. Just… don’t. Please.”

“Okay.” Steve whispers, shifting backwards slightly. “Okay. Whatever you need.”

He opens his eyes, and Steve’s are so goddamn blue it makes his heart ache. His mother- 

His thoughts are moving too fast, everything is racing. Stark Industries is his now, it’s his to do what he wants with. Obadiah will want the power. He always does. Howard- Howard he can think about later. Relief is the strongest right now. He doesn’t care. But Maria, mom, _mom. _

The storm is ebbing and flowing, slamming against the last defences he has. 

_No. _

Compartmentalise. He’s always been good at that. Breathe. Wait. Breathe again. The grief can't catch him unaware now, he can feel it simmering and burning and _hurting_, just under the surface, but he’s ready for it now. He shoves it deeper. Breathe. Later, he can deal with it later. It won’t help now, even if all he wants to do is let go, give in, and let the storm drown him for a while. 

In the end, Tony gives himself three seconds. 

_One. _

His parents are dead. They’re dead, they’re not coming back, Stark Industries is his now. He slams a lid down on the storm. Wait. It can wait. 

_Two. _

Obie’s words filter back to him. His mother had been driving. An accident. But she was careful, too careful, never drank, never went over the speed limit, never slipped. 

_Three. _

If his mother had been driving, and she was always so careful, then it meant that maybe it hadn’t been an accident. 

He opens his eyes, and when he takes his next breath, he strengthens the walls holding the pain back. Breathe. Strengthen. Breathe. Steve is staring at him like he’s seen a ghost. 

“Tony?”

He blinks again, shaking his head. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m with you.”

“Tony.” Steve says again. Softly. Carefully. Like Tony is about to break. Maybe he is, he doesn’t know anymore. “It’s okay if you’re not, you know that right?”

The grief surges again. 

He can’t breathe-

_No_, he snarls at it, pushing it away with a strength he didn’t know he had. _Not now. _

He nods slowly, leaning into Steve’s touch for a second, before pulling himself away. 

Later. He can grieve later, be selfish with Steve later, and rest later.

Obie first. Because if he’d said it was an accident, and Tony knows it wasn’t, then that means-

“I think,” He says quietly, and Steve is immediately looking at him, searching his eyes. “I think it… an accident. I don’t think it was an accident.”

Steve furrows his brows, confusion knotting them together. 

“Your parents?”

Tony releases a breath, curling his hands into fists and then relaxing them. 

“Yeah. Obie said my- said Maria had been driving. She was the most careful person driving. Never drank, never went over the limit. It’s not icy yet. So-”

“So you think it wasn’t an accident.” Steve finishes for him, nodding slowly. “Okay. So what can we do about it?”

Purpose, it’s what Tony needs, what he has now. First the crash, then Obie, then the company. The rest will follow. He takes a deep breath. 

“I can look into Obadiah, see if there’s anything, and there will be, that he’s been hiding. If it was him, then he would've left a trace.”

“And then?”

He gives Steve a half smile. 

“And then, I’m going to see what it’s like to do exactly what he’s been doing to me for the last ten years.”

He sees so much in Steve’s eyes. Sadness, worry, fear, exhaustion, a tiny flash of savage pleasure at the idea. But then it fades, and it’s only Steve left. Honest, beautiful, _good _Steve. 

“Tony.” He says, and it doesn’t sound worried anymore, just low, soothing, calm. “Are you sure you want to go after him for this? I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but is it worth it?”

Tony hesitates for a second, because he isn’t sure, he doesn’t _know. _He hates Obie, he does know that much, hates him almost as much as he hated his father. He wants him gone. But… they work well together, despite everything. And if Tony gets rid of Obadiah, then it’s just him, alone, running a billion dollar company he’s never wanted to run. 

But then he thinks of Obie’s smile, the blackmail, the manipulation. Threatening Rhodey. Threatening Steve. _Hurting _Steve. Killing his parents. He knows it, can _feel _that it’s true. 

Any lingering hesitation hardens to an unbreakable will. 

“It’s worth it. I want to ruin his life, and I want to do it perfectly.”

Steve holds his gaze for a long second, and then nods, a humourless smile twitching on his lips. 

“You’re a little scary when you want to be, you know that right?”

Tony half smiles. The grief is there, waiting to pounce. The anger is simmering under his skin, ebbing and flowing. But Steve is here, and he’s the constant. He’s always been the constant, his anchor. 

“Let’s get started.”

-

Steve watches Tony pull the shattered pieces of his grief together in the space of seconds. He wonders if Tony _has _a breaking point. There’s so much pain, so much loss. And yet he picks himself up every single time, without fail, and keeps going. 

Somehow, he just keeps going. 

Steve bites back the reassurances, the urge to help and hold and _be there. _It’s not what Tony needs right now. Later, yes. Now? No. 

He watches Tony’s entire demeanour change, and he seems to put the intense weight of grief aside, just brush it off. Denial, compartmentalisation, he doesn’t know. But Tony is doing it. 

Tony picks up his phone, and Steve hears it ring for less than a second before the person on the other side picks up. 

“Hey Pep-”

Something flickers on Tony’s face as she cuts him off, a fraction of the immeasurable grief and _anger _Steve had felt in him earlier. It’s gone in a second, his expression hardening again. 

“Thanks. But that’s not why I called-” He’s cut off for the second time, and some of the walls slip again. Steve sees it happen, sees the real depth of emotion flickering over his face. He’s struck with the thought that Tony _feels _so fucking much, and yet the grip he has right on it all now is terrifyingly strong. Steve wonders again what the breaking point is, if there is one. 

“Pep. Just _listen_.” He sounds pissed, but not angry. “Listen to me. I need you to stay away from Obie. Yeah, I know what I sounds like, but I’m looking into something- yeah of course it’s dangerous. Just stay away from him if you can, and clear my schedule for the next two days. Then stay put. I need you to hold down the fort for the next few hours.” A beat. “Just try Pep. Thanks, I have to go. Bye.”

He hangs up, turning back to Steve. “They’ll want a press conference soon. Pepper is on it, but can only hold off for so long. I’ve got to remind the shareholders who exactly is in charge, and that it’s not Obadiah Stane. But that can wait a day.”

Steve nods silently, keeping up barely with the speed at which Tony’s brain is moving right now. He isn’t sure how to deal with Tony like this, the choreographed hurricane that he turns into, and the single and unrelenting focus in his eyes. 

“What can I do?” He says eventually, because there’s no point trying to understand all of it. 

Tony narrows his eyes, assessing him with the intense gaze of a businessman. Steve resists the urge to fidget. 

“Look into police records over the last ten years, anything linking to SI. We should be clean, so if there’s anything there, flag it.” Tony hands him his phone, typing in a string of code. “I cracked the firewalls, so it should be overridden. Tell me if you run into any problems.”

“What are you going to do?”

Tony is already moving, making his way over to the laptop on the other side of the room and bringing it over. 

“Obadiah has an SI issued email, and a personal one. I'm going to get into both, see if I can access his bank details. Recent transactions can be a killer.”

Steve huffs a laugh and nods, taking the phone and starting to look through it.

An hour later, there’s another goddamn knock at the door, and Steve doesn’t even let Tony move before he’s lunging out of his seat to open it. 

Pepper Potts meets his gaze head on, and he realises instantly why Tony likes her so much. For a second, she just stares at him, eyes steely, and Steve wonders if she’s about to kill him. He’s not sure _why _he thinks that, but she looks terrifying, and he _definitely _never wants to get o her bad side. Ever.

After a few seconds of silence, she breezes straight past him, folder in one hand, and somehow managing to balance two coffees in the other. She hands one to Steve without a word, putting the other on the table for Tony. 

Tony turns around, and Steve watches a thousand emotions run across his face before he clearly decides to settle on neutral as he picks up the coffee. 

“What are you doing here?”

Pepper puts the folder on the table with a little more force than necessary, and then sits down in the spare seat. 

“I thought the coffee would be a good peace offering.”

A twitch of a smile, but it’s the first Steve has seen of one since Obadiah left, so it’s better than nothing. 

“Bullshit. You think coffee is equivalent to weed killer.”

Pepper shrugs. “You look like you could use it, no offence. And I figured your boyfriend would be here too. Also, you’re awful terrible at communicating with me.”

“Bit of a crazy morning.”

Pepper’s face softens at this, and Steve goes around the table, grabbing the phone that he’d been looking at before she had arrived and sliding into the seat next to Tony. 

“I’m sorry to come and make it crazier then.”

Steve can see Tony searching her gaze, and then he leans back in his chair, narrowing his eyes, smile fading. 

“What did you do.”

“I broke into Obadiah Stane’s office.”

Tony is on his feet in seconds, and _there_ are the emotions that Steve’s been seeing flickering behind the ten foot high walls in his eyes, now raging across his face. 

“You did _what?”_

“I broke into his office.” Pepper repeats, calm tone never faltering. 

“Did you not hear the part where I said to stay _away _from him? Or was that suddenly just not an important detail.”

Pepper rolls her eyes, flipping open the folder and pulling a USB out of her pocket. “It wasn’t hard. But I figured that it would be useful. This is it.” Any lingering humour that had been on her face before has vanished. “It’s not… I’m sorry. You’re really not going to like it.”

He watches as Tony takes the USB without another word, plugging it into his computer. The tiny blue light blinks on, and Steve leans over his shoulder, watching the screen. The first thing up are what looks like missile plans, scrolling across the computer screen almost too fast to see. He hears Tony inhale sharply next to him, and seconds later, realises why. Photos. Photos of these missiles with groups of men that Steve has only seen on the news as America’s most wanted. 

“He’s selling under the table.” Steve says softly, and there’s a sort of horrified resignation in Tony’s eyes. 

The email screenshots comes next, and Steve swallows down bile as Tony reaches out, scrolling through the information on the screen. There are endless emails, endless photos. Evidence, easily enough evidence. Words jump out at Steve as he reads, words that make him want to break glass, or maybe break the man who’d left only hours before. 

_Stark, kidnapping, crash, missiles. _

_Assassination_

_Termination. _

Tony hits the exit button fast, and Steve can see his hands trembling. He glances at Steve for a second, and then his gaze lands on Pepper. When he speaks, his voice is surprisingly steady. 

“To summarise. He wanted to sell weapons under the table to terrorists, knew I wouldn't agree. I was meant to be in that car, but I was here with Steve. So he killed my parents as a plan B, and organised with these same terrorists to kidnap me and kill me, keeping me out of the picture so that he would be able to take over Stark Industries. Did I miss anything?”

Silence. 

Deafening silence. 

Steve lets out a shaky breath; forcing his hands to relax out of the fists he’d curled them into without realising. “Jesus.”

Pepper nods, going over to a counter and pouring herself a glass of whiskey that probably cost more than what Steve earns in a year. “Yeah. It’s not pretty. But obviously, it’s better if you have all the facts before making a case against him.” Her voice trembles a little as she speaks, and Steve realises she’s not as unaffected as she’s pretending to be. 

_Kidnapping. _

They would have taken him, tortured him until he broke, and then killed him. All so Obadiah Stane could have his moment in the spotlight, could get a tiny fraction of power back, could finally win. 

“I trusted him.” Says Tony faintly, staring at the screen. He’s pale, Steve notices, and reaches out to take his hand, gently winding their fingers together. “I fucking trusted him. I hated him, but trusted him.”

“I’m so sorry.” Steve says softly, touching his arm, grip on his hand tightening a little. “But at least we have the hard evidence now.”

Tony lets out a breath, shaking his head a little. “I don’t even know if I’m angry about this. I’m- it feels like shock. He was ready to kill me, he _did _kill my parents.” A beat, and Tony blinks hard, running his free hand through his hair. “He killed my mom Steve.” He says softly, and Steve’s chest aches. “He killed her.”

“Tony.” He resists the urge to swallow as Tony turns his full attention on him. The intensity of his gaze is still there, the raging emotions and anger still linger. Being directly under his eyes right now is a little terrifying, but Steve ignores it, hands reaching up to cup his face. “Listen to me. He killed them, I know. He’s an awful person, but he’s not going to hurt anyone again if we do this. If you leave it, he’s going to come after you, because you’re a threat to him. He’s running scared.”

Tony blinks at him slowly, and then nods. “Yeah. Yeah I know I just- how did I not see it?”

“Because you were too close to him Tones.”

They all spin around as someone Steve guesses walks through the door. He recognises the voice from that phone call. James Rhodes. Rhodey. 

Tony lets out a noise that’s half way between a laugh and a sob, and is on his feet in seconds, throwing himself at the man who has just walked in the door. Rhodey doesn’t flinch as Tony collides with him, only laughs a little, arms coming around Tony to pull him closer.

Steve relaxes, because there is something grounding about Rhodey, even though he’s only been in the room for a minute. When he glances over at her, Pepper is smiling. 

After a while, Tony pulls away, and then promptly punches Rhodey in the arm. Hard. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Rhodey’s eyebrows shoot up, and it looks like he’s barely holding back a smile. 

“Lovely to see you too Tones.”

Tony folds his arms, and it looks like he’s trying to be cool, neutral, but there’s a tension in him, a pain he can’t hide. 

“You’re meant to be in DC.”

Rhodey’s face softens, because he knows_, _he _knows_ where this anger is coming from. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner. Pepper called me after she got the news about your parents. I called in a couple of favours, got the next flight over.”

For a long second, no one speaks, and then Pepper comes over with drinks, handing them glasses. 

“Figured you could use this.”

Steve watches Tony take the drink, hands steady. 

“I’m not going to just get him arrested.”

All eyes flick to the billionaire, and his eyes are darker than Steve has ever seen before when he meets them. The grief… the grief has been shoved aside again. Steve wonders how much energy it takes to do that, how much effort. 

“What do you mean?” Steve says carefully, taking a sip of the whiskey. 

Tony places the drink down carefully, and smiles. It’s humourless, sharp. Deadly. 

“He doesn’t deserve something as normal as prison. I’m going to use the information to get him to give up every bit of control he has left, then throw him into the highest maximum security prison that exists.”

Rhodey shrugs. “I usually would be against blackmail, seeing as it’s illegal and all of that. But if anyone deserves to have his life utterly ruined, it’s Obadiah Stane.”

Obadiah, the one who sat back and let Howard Stark hit a _child_, who blackmailed Tony, threatened him, made him uncomfortable, controlled everything he could, pushed him into what ultimately resulted in him nearly having his worst nightmare repeated, and finally, tried to have him killed for nothing more than personal gain. 

“Agree.” Steve says, biting back the anger, pushing back the rage that he can feel down to his _bones_. “Definitely agree.”

Pepper glances between them. 

“Well. I think we’ve got enough evidence to sufficiently wreck him.” 

Tony holds up a hand. “One more thing. I found some bank transactions earlier. He’s been making transfers to known terrorist groups, presumably the ones who were getting paid to kill me.” He frowns a little. “I cancelled the transactions, hacked his account and shut it down. He won’t be getting anything else from selling under the table, and neither will the people he’s been paying off.”

Steve blinks, raising his eyebrows. 

“Any other tricks?” 

Tony smiles humourlessly. “Nope. I just need an hour, an actual police warrant, and a car.”

“I’ll sort the car.” Pepper says, already tapping away at her phone. “Give me twenty minutes. Your security detail will have to go up for a while.”

Tony shrugs. “Fair. Thanks Pep.”

Rhodey stretches. “I’ll get you the warrant. I’m owed about a thousand favours by the NYPD, so I’m sure we can work something out.”

Steve stands. “One more thing.”

Tony turns to him, eyebrows raised, but Steve sees that Tony knows what he’s about to say before the words leave his mouth. 

“I’m coming with you.”

-

Two hours later, Steve and Tony are outside of Obadiah Stane’s office, and Steve can feel his heart in his throat. They’re both in suits, and Steve dimly that notices how goddamn _good _Tony looks in a suit this tailored. But most of him is nervous, so nervous. 

Tony looks at him, eyes softening for a second, and tugs him down for a kiss. Steve relaxes against his lips, closing his eyes. When Tony pulls away, there’s a slightly sad smile on his face. 

“When we get in there… it won’t be pretty. I can’t let him see a weakness, can’t give him the chance. If you come in, you might not like what you see.”

Steve reaches out, smoothing his curls away from his face, trying to convey every part of the love he feels for Tony into a single look. Tony tilts his head into the touch, letting Steve runs his fingers through his hair for a second. Tony’s eyes are bright, open, and Steve lets himself relax into the almost untouchable, yet so tangible beauty of the man in front of him. It’s a second of stillness, a moment of peace in all the chaos. 

“I’m not going to run.” Steve says softly, fingers carding through his hair. “I haven’t before, I won’t now. Do what you have to do, and I’m going to be there, every step of the way.”

Tony leans in, pressing their foreheads together, and Steve feels him take in a shuddering breath. Not for the first time, Steve is reminded of how young he is, how young they both are. Tony is someone who’s gone through more than what most people endure in a lifetime, and yet he is still here, still fighting. 

“I love you.” Steve says softly. “You’re nearly there, and you can do this.”

Tony pulls away and smiles a little. “I love you too. Don’t freak.”

Steve laughs quietly. “I won’t.”

A second later, Steve sees the walls going up, all those invisible defences sliding into place. When Tony meets his gaze again, he knows the smile the billionaire gives him isn’t real, because his eyes are so, so empty. 

“Show time.”

Tony knocks once on the door, pushes it open, and strolls inside. 

-

Obadiah doesn’t look at all surprised when they walk in, only nods towards Steve. 

“Your little boy toy can wait outside.”

Tony’s expression doesn’t change in the slightest, his lid on everything so, so tight, and Steve feels a flicker of pride.

“Steve Rogers,” Tony says, voice sharp, “will be staying here as my witness.”

Obadiah raises his eyebrows, leaning back in his seat. “Tony boy, this isn’t an interrogation.”

Tony just shrugs, pulling the police warrant from Rhodey out of his pocket and throwing it onto the desk. Obadiah pales slightly, and Steve bites back a grin, fighting to keep his expression neutral.

“It’s whatever you want it to be. But legally, sure, let’s call it an interrogation. Steve stays.”

That’s anger, well concealed but _there, _flashing in Obadiah’s eyes. But then he jerks his head towards the two chairs in front of his desk. 

“Take a seat.”

Tony flashes a smile, and Steve gets the urge to laugh, because Obadiah Stane has no damn _clue _what is about to happen. They both sit down, and Steve resists the urge to fidget.

“Excellent. It would be a shame to waste time, so I’ll get straight to the point.”

Tony is all business now, and there’s something in his eyes that makes _Steve _want to run out of the room a little, so he can’t imagine how Obadiah is feeling.

Obadiah shrugs, eyes flashing with ire. “I’m sure whatever you have to say is fascinating, so by all means.”

Tony leans forward a little, and there’s no smile on his face. 

“I’m putting Pepper in charge of the funeral arrangements, if you have any questions, take it up with her.”

Obadiah raises his eyebrows. “That’s all you came here to say?”

“Not exactly.”

He inclines his head, and Steve sees Tony’s hand shift in his lap a little, the only outward show of tension. 

“I decided to give you an option in this shit show that you’ve created. Option one is that you turn yourself in. Option two is to get arrested. As you can imagine, option two will be a little messier.”

The look of confusion of Obadiah’s face is fucking _priceless_. 

“What the hell are you on about?”

Tony smirks, and it’s razor sharp as he pulls the slim folder Pepper had given him out of his jacket. 

“Here. I believe this just about covers it.”

Obadiah doesn’t move to take the folder, so Tony opens it himself onto the first page, flipping it over so Obie can read it.

As he looks, Tony starts talking, counting things off on his fingers as he does. 

“Evidence of illegal dealings with terrorists, attempted kidnapping, manufacturing of some very unauthorised and illegal weapons, attempting to take a company that doesn’t belong to you by force, attempted murder, organiser and accomplice to the murder of Howard and Maria Stark, and accomplice to the physical assault of Steve Rogers, only a couple of days ago.” Tony smiles, and it’s a terrifying thing. “Did I miss anything?”

“What the _hell_ is this?” Obadiah hisses

“A compilation of your sins. In simple terms, it’s everything I’ll be showing the judge at your trial.” Steve sees Obadiah's fingers tighten around the folder, and apparently Tony does too, because he laughs quietly. “I’ve already made the necessary copies, so you can keep that if you wish to.”

“I'm not saying anything on record without my lawyers.” Obadiah spits, slamming the folder onto the desk. “You can't officially charge me with anything.”

Tony grins, and Steve is no longer sure whether he’s intimidated by his boyfriend, or turned on. Or both. 

“Officially, I'm not even here. Those cameras you keep looking at?” An icy smile. “They’re mine. I hacked them an hour ago. This meeting never happened.”

Steve truly, _truly, _wants to take a picture of Obadiah’s face and frame it. 

“The warrant-”

Tony laughs as he cuts across him.

“The police warrant was necessary only because I’ve always wanted to throw one onto a desk. This seemed like a more appropriate time than any. Also, I enjoyed seeing the look on your face. I've got to get my giggles somewhere.”

Steve snorts, hastily covering it with a cough, and Tony kicks him under the desk. But then Tony’s smile fades, expression hardening again

“I’ll also be testifying for emotional manipulation and blackmail, just because it’s a nice addition. If you don’t make a fuss about it, maybe they’ll bury you in the fancy prison garden, rather than the shitty one.”

There’s silence for a second, and then Obadiah slowly looks up. 

“You can't do this. I run this company, I keep it alive. You’ll be lost without me, without your father. Put this aside Tony.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, Steve realises instantly, as for the first time since arriving, anger flickers to life in Tony’s eyes.

“Maybe if you hadn’t tried to kill the people I love, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Howard was-”

“I’m not talking about him,” says Tony quietly, and his ice in his tone makes _Steve_ a little nervous. “I was never talking about him.”

“He was your _father-”_

“And he treated me like _shit _for the majority of my life.” Tony snaps, some of his steady composure faltering for a second. “And you did nothing.”

Obadiah just looks at him, small smile curving his lips, and Steve has never wanted to punch someone so badly in his life. 

Tony leans back in his seat, tilting his head to one side, resealing the cracks in his immovable facade. 

“Now. The options have been presented to you I believe?”

“Do you truly think I’ll be turning myself in willingly?”

Tony shrugs, pulling out his phone and tapping a few buttons on it. A second later, the doors open, and the room is filled with people in black tuxedos. Steve is _really _trying not to smile now. 

“No. But did I forget to mention the cameras? I said they were mine, technically I loaned the footage to SHIELD. Apparently, they’re rather invested in taking down power hungry businessmen. I mean usually, they’re far more interested in global scale threats, but your scheming plus a rather large donation convinced them to lend a hand.”

Steve turns as someone steps out of the group. He’s tall, clean-shaven, with a dark patch over one eye. His smile is terrifying. Tony matches it with one of his own. 

“Obadiah, let me introduce you to Nick Fury. He’s certainly not as nice as I am, he’s got all the necessary evidence, and he will be in charge of your trial. Or lack thereof.”

Obadiah launches to his feet. 

“You can’t send me to prison without a trial!”

Tony shrugs, standing too, and brushes an invisible speck of dust off his suit. 

“I can and I will. You work outside the law, so I work outside the law. Difference is, I’m a lot better at getting what I want than you are, and you’ve managed to piss me off. Now Steve here is usually the one who counsels mercy, but thanks to you, he's not feeling particularly talkative today, and I'm not feeling very forgiving. That will be all."

The men crowd forward, and in seconds, Obadiah is surrounded by people escorting him out of the room. 

“Tony!” He shouts, and for a second Steve hears something desperate, something human in his voice. “You need me!”

Tony smiles, and it’s a little sad. “I have everything I need. You’re not a part of that.”

“Please.”

Tony's expression hardens. “Goodbye Obie.” He says. “Have a nice life.”

Obadiah's shouts continue down the hall, rapidly morphing into threats that send a chill snaking down Steve’s spine. Threats aimed at Tony, at Steve, at _everyone. _

When Steve looks at his boyfriend, his face is calm. 

“He won’t be able to follow through on any of those. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I know.” Steve says quietly, watching him. “It’s going to be okay.”

Nick Fury pauses at the door, turning back to face them, addressing his question to Tony. 

“You have it covered here?”

“Yes. Thank you.” The billionaire says with a half smile. “You’ve done your country a great service.”

Fury rolls his eyes. “I’m sure I have. Let me know if you’re ever looking to go into my line of work Stark, we could do with someone like you on the team.”

And then he’s gone, black coat sweeping out behind him as the door slams shut. Tony raises his eyebrows. 

“Team? He makes it sound like some super secret boy band.”

Steve laughs a bit, lacing their fingers together. “Don’t join his boy band without me.”

Tony shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “I would never.”

“Tony?”

He nods, still not looking at Steve. “Yeah?”

Steve brushes a thumb over the back of his hand, keeping his voice low, soothing. 

“We’re okay now.”

Finally, Tony turns to look at him, and Steve can see the walls crumbling, despite the facade of amusement. Tony blinks hard, the shadow of grief still on his face, and Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders, tucking him into his side. 

“Come on.” He says quietly, leading him out of the door. The hall is empty now, silent, and Steve feels a tension in him unwind. 

“Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this, or really really want to yell at me right now, drop me a comment (I love reading about what you guys thought!) or come and scream at me on tumblr/instagram: @wordsxstars


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading this far, i hope this last one does them justice

_“He whom love touches not walks in darkness.”_   
_― Plato, The Symposium_

{New Year’s Eve}

“Tony we’re gonna be late!”

Distantly, Steve hears Tony swearing, and a second later, his boyfriend comes bolting down the stairs. 

“Sorry sorry sorry. What’s the saying? Can’t rush perfection?”

Steve rolls his eyes and grabs Tony’s hand, entwining their fingers. 

“You look great.”

Tony smiles, something he’s been doing more and more recently, and squeezes Steve’s hand in thanks. Then he moves, dragging Steve towards the door, barely giving him time to pick up his jacket. 

“Hurry up sweetheart, you’re making us late.”

Steve chokes on an incredulous laugh, allowing himself to be pulled out of Tony’s apartment. He’d arrived to pick him up at 11:15 and it's now 11:35. 

“Slow down!”

“New year won’t _ wait _for us Steven.” Tony says with a smirk, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. 

Steve laughs, letting himself relax for a second. Tony smiling, Tony happy, are things that haven’t been common over the last few weeks. And yet here they are. 

Obadiah Stane had been reported as dead not even a week after being transferred to one of SHIELD’s high security prisons. Apparently, the man had an uncanny ability to make enemies everywhere he went. Steve had seen the relief in Tony’s eyes when he had heard the news, the relief and the tiny shimmer of regret, because maybe there would always be a part of the genius that cared for Obadiah.

For Steve, it had just been relief. He'd said as much, and that at least had made Tony smile. 

In the week that had followed the death of his parents, Tony had been next to a stranger, pulling away from everyone a little bit, even Steve.

So Steve had given him the space to breathe, and a week later, there had been a knock at his door. He lets his mind wander back to the feeling of relief he'd felt when Tony had turned up at his apartment. 

_ “I’m setting up a charity for her.” Are the first words out of Tony’s mouth when Steve opens the door. For a second, he doesn’t speak. Then he manages to find his voice. _

_ “You’re what?” _

_ Elegant as always Steve. _

_ “A charity branch of SI. I’m calling it the Maria Stark foundation. It’ll fund projects that she would’ve wanted to help with, and it’s also going to be partially funding Fury’s super secret boy band that I’ve been rejecting his offers to be a part of for a week now. Being a spy sounds… not good for my health. So I’ll just be funding it instead.” _

_ Steve stares at him for another long second, just taking him in. Tony’s hair is wilder than it had been a week ago, curlier and longer. His gaze seems older, a little sadder. And yet there is still something so _ alive _ in his eyes. _

_ “She would’ve been really proud of you.” Are the words he eventually settles on, voice quiet. As he watches, Tony’s smile softens into something sad but… hopeful. For the first time in a while, It’s hopeful. _

_ “Thank you.” _

_ Steve shrugs, smiling back a little. “You want to come inside for a bit?” _

_ Tony hesitates for a second, but then something in him seems to uncoil. _

_ “Yeah. Sure that would be… that would be really nice.” _

_ Steve gently takes his hand, and Tony relaxes into the grip, leaning against him. _

_ “I’m sorry I was MIA for a little while.” He says quietly. Steve just shakes his head. _

_ “You needed the time, it’s okay.” _

_ “It was a mistake. You didn’t deserve that.” _

_ Steve shrugs, absentmindedly brushing his fingers through Tony’s curls. “I swear it’s okay. I get why you wanted some time. I just… I’m just glad you came back.” _

_ When Tony looks at him again, there’s something sweet and soft in his gaze. _

_ “I was always going to come back to you.”_

_ Tony draws patterns on his skin with a finger as Steve leads them to his room, warmth blooming in his chest. For a few minutes it’s quiet, peaceful, and then Tony speaks. _

_ “I was wondering if you’d like to spend New Year's with me. I usually do it with P_ _epper and Rhodey, but they’re both out of the country for a few weeks.” _

_ Steve smiles, leaning in and kissing him once, twice. _

_ “Yes. That would be… that would be amazing.” _

_ Tony laughs, dragging him back in for another kiss, longer this time. _

_ “Good. As long as you don’t spend half an hour getting ready.” _

Steve snaps out of his own thoughts, 

“You were the one who told _me_ not to spend twenty minutes getting ready!” Steve says, exasperation warring with fondness. “I literally remember the conversation. So can we hurry. Up. Please_.”_

Tony shrugs, grin sharpening. “Like I said. Can’t rush perfection darling. Relax. It’s going to be fine.”

He fights the urge to blush, because Tony really _ does _ look good in his unfairly flattering tight jeans and black shirt. It’s not a complicated outfit, but the term _ sex on legs _comes to mind.

Steve clears his throat, forcing himself to focus on literally anything else, or they definitely won’t be leaving the apartment on time. 

“The others are waiting.” He manages to get out, and Tony grins, starting to pull him along again. 

“Don’t worry, we’re still going make it.”

“Because you can control New York traffic now?” Steve shakes his head, no real annoyance in his voice. 

“It takes ten minutes!”

“It’s literally the _ new year _in twenty. You better be right.”

“You worry too much.”

“You’re chaotic.” Steve shoots back with a grin. Tony laughs, and the sound is so _ light, _that for a second it takes Steve’s breath away. 

“You knew this when you started dating me darling.”

“That’s true.” He mutters, smile tugging at his lips. “That’s very true.”

“Steve.” Tony says, and he looks at him, sees the seriousness in his gaze. “We’re gonna make it, okay?”

Something in him relaxes, and he nods. “Okay. Okay.”

-

When they reach Times Square, Steve winces at the amount of people. 

“This is insane.”

Tony doesn’t seem fazed, but the grip he has on Steve’s hand tightens a little. 

“I’ve got us a place, just don’t let go, okay?”

“Howdid you manage to get us a place?”

Tony grins. “I’m Tony Stark. It wasn’t hard.”

Steve rolls his eyes, letting the blaring music sweep over him. 

“Do you know where the others are?”

“Already there. I got them badges last week.”

“You- of course you did.” Steve laughs a little as Tony tugs him around the crowd until they reach a clearer area, closer to the front.

“Are you even _allowed_ to do this from a security perspective?” Steve mutters as Tony pulls him forward. 

“Technically I’m not. I had to pull a couple of strings with the people in charge, and do a lot of whining to Pepper about how important it is to me that I’m here.”

“Bet she loved that.”

Tony laughs. “I’m pretty sure she agreed just to shut me up.”

“That does make more sense. How are we even going to find space?”

“It’s reserved.” Tony says, and there’s a wild sort of excitement on his face that Steve never wants to stop seeing. “Come on.”

“You’re not seriously saying we’re- _ Tony.” _

The billionaire’s laugh rises above the roaring noise of the crowd as he pulls Steve into the middle of it, fighting to get to the spot that they’ve saved. He’s surprised the pounding of his heart isn’t audible. Tony’s grip doesn’t release, doesn’t give an inch, even for a second. So Steve lets himself be pulled along, trusting the person leading him. 

After a lot of swearing and shoving, they finally break through to the spot the others have saved. It’s close to the front, but still surrounded by people. 

“Hey!” Nat yells as they push their way through to the clear space. “This is insane.”

Steve doesn’t reply, eyes wide as he takes in everything around him. There’s a countdown on one of the huge screens, ticking down from the five minute mark. He can’t see the route they came from, it’s long since been swallowed up by the crowd. For once, it doesn’t bother Steve. They’ve made it just in time. 

The energy around them is amazing, and so, so alive. There must be thousands of people in the square, despite the freezing weather. 

“You like it?” Tony says close to his ear, breath warming Steve’s skin. “You said a while ago that you’d never done New Year in Times Square, so I thought I should change that.”

Steve looks at Tony, sees his eyes dancing with light for the first time in a while. And then he kisses him, because it’s impossible not to like this, surrounded by so much life. 

“I love you.” Steve says, leaning in again. Tony’s lips are warm despite the cold air, and he wants to stay here forever. “Thank you so much for this.”

Tony smiles at him, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “You're so welcome.”

“Hey.” Nat says, poking Steve in the shoulder. “Lover boys. I thought this was a _ friend's evening _.”

Tony slides his arm around his waist, and Steve laughs at the look of annoyance on Nat’s face. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be with you in a minute.” 

Nat glances at the giant countdown. 

“You have three minutes and thirty seconds. I’ll be over here with Clint and Sam, pretending not to be listening to whatever Tony has clearly been itching to say since you two arrived.”

Tony shoots her a look which clearly says _ shut the fuck up or I’ll kill you and hide the body, _ and she gives him one right back which is distinctly more terrifying. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if _ Natasha _ ended up working for Nick Fury one day. He suspects she would enjoy it the most out of all of them.

“Tony?”

His boyfriend turns to him, and there’s a nervous look on his face that tugs at Steve’s memory. He realises where he’s seen it before. It’s the same look Tony had been wearing right before Obadiah had knocked to deliver the news of his parents and interrupted what Tony had been about to say. Nervous. Hopeful. 

Steve isn’t sure he’s breathing. 

Tony’s fingers grip his own a little tighter, and then he smiles. 

“So I was wondering if I could run an idea past you?”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah.” Tony says, a slightly breathless laugh reaching Steve’s ears. “Yeah okay. Okay. Here goes.” There’s silence for a second, and Steve can see Tony’s other hand tapping out a beat on his leg. “I was wondering, and you don’t have to give me an answer now, or even say yes, and it’s not going to change anything if you say no, but... I was wondering if you wanted to maybe, possibly consider entertaining the idea of maybe living with me.”

Steve just stares at him, eyes wide, heart pounding in his chest, and Tony seems to take his silence for a no because he starts talking again. 

“I shouldn’t have- I’m sorry, forget I said anything, honestly it’s fine I’m just being-”

Steve kisses him, which has always proven effective. This time is no different. When he pulls away, it’s Tony’s eyes that are wide. 

“Tony.” He says gently. “Yes.”

His boyfriend blinks at him, dark eyes flashing with the reflection of so many lights around them. “Yes what?” 

Steve laughs, feeling a flood of warmth run through him, something light in his chest. 

“Yes to the question you just asked you idiot. Yes I want to move in with you, yes I want to live with you. Yes.”

Tony just stares at him for a second, and there’s an expression of disbelief in his eyes. 

“You- what?”

“Tony.” He says, kissing him, desperate to wipe away the confusion. “I love you. More than anything. I really want this. Plus, I literally spend most of my time at your place anyway, so it kind of isn’t a massive change.” 

Tony grins, and the nervous look is gone. His eyes are dancing, and _ god, _he looks so beautiful right now. 

“You want to live with me.”

“Yep.”

“You actually want to live with me.”

_ “Yes.” _

Tony laughs, burying his head in Steve’s shoulder and pulling him into a hug. When he speaks again, his voice is slightly muffled. “Well okay then.”

Nat turns around, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “You’re both dumb. Glad you finally managed to get that one out Stark.”

Tony flips her off without looking, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder and closing his eyes. Steve’s arms wrap a little more securely around him. 

“Hey Steve?” Tony says quietly, and Steve wonders if it’s normal to feel such a sense of total peace at the sound of a single voice. 

“Yes?”

“I’m really really glad I came in for that coffee.” 

Steve feels his heart in his throat, and all he can do is nod, closing his eyes and pulling him close. 

“Me too.”

And then suddenly, all Steve can think about is the story his mom had read to him about mythology so many years ago. It had been somewhere in a bedtime story, a random book of Greek mythology with a single purpose to get children to relax. It was essentially Plato but simplified. He doesn’t know why this memory is coming back to him _ now _ of all times, but then again, maybe he does. 

_ Steve points to the one with the shiny cover, because the shiny cover looks way cooler than the others. His mom begins to read. _

_ “Humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. But the king of the gods, Zeus, was scared of their power. Because he was scared, he split them into two separate parts.” _

_ Steve frowns. He doesn’t really get it. _

The ten second countdown starts, and New York City holds its breath. It’s snowing now, settling on their clothes, catching the light as it spirals down. Steve isn’t sure he’s thinking about anything other than how warm Tony is, how real he is, how much he loves him. There’s such a peaceful silence amidst the chaos, the roaring wall of sound. 

_ 3 _

_ 2 _

_ 1 _

_ “By splitting them up, Zeus forced them to spend their entire lives in search of their other halves.” _

Steve leans down, kissing Tony gently, and the world erupts around them. 

_ “It’s a story that tells you something.” His mom says to him, smile soft when she finishes the book. Steve is seven years old, and his mom is the smartest person in the whole world, so he believes her. _

_ “What’s it saying?” _

_ His mom smiles, tapping his chest gently, right over his heart. _

_ “It's saying that home isn’t a place, but a feeling.” _

Tony pulls away and smiles, golden brown eyes dancing with the city lights, and Steve realises there’s a part of him that’s been waiting for Tony Stark his whole life.

There's snow on Tony's face, Steve brushes it away with his lips.

“Happy New Year Steve.” Tony whispers, kissing him again.

_ A feeling. _

The rest of the world falls away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more of a love letter to you all (and to Steve and Tony) than anything else. This is the first multi-chapter fic I've written and completed, and I have loved writing it so much. 
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me through the long process of my procrastination and obsession with angst. (Em and Siya, you guys have more patience with me than most, so thank you. I love you both to the moon and back)
> 
> And finally thank you so much for reading, and for all the amazing comments, they literally mean the whole world.  
xx

**Author's Note:**

> Also this fic is for @Peterbenjxmin , who sat and yelled at me every time i wrote angst and sent her screenshots :,)
> 
> find me on  
[tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/wordsxstars)  
[instagram](https://www.instagram.com/wordsxstars/)  
[twitter](https://twitter.com/wordsxstars)


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